LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


Class 


JOHNNIE 

A  MEMORY  OF   BOYHOOD 


BY 

E.  O.  LAUGHLTN 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 
WILL  VAWTER 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

Of 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


Copyright  1898 
The  Bowen-  Merrill  Company 


Copyright  1903 
The  Bobbs- Merrill  Company 

September 


PRESS  OF 

BRAUNWORTH   &  CO. 

BOOKBINDERS  AND   PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,  N.  Y. 


I 

DEDICATED     TO 

JOHNNIE 

Whose  surname  may  "be  supplied  by  the  reader 
from  the  throng  of  other  Johnnies, — just  such 
happy-hearted  little  youngsters  as  was  this  one. 


192318 


THE  matter  presented  in  this  little  volume  has 
assumed  its  present  form  and  dress  with  those 
mingled  feelings  of  bravado  and  timidity  which 
afflict  the  boy  when  first  he  appears  in  long 
trousers.  The  distress  of  such  a  boy  becomes 
more  evident  the  more  it  is  concealed.  He  is 
painfully  conscious  of  being  mostly  arms  and 
legs — and  clothes.  If  he  swings  along  care 
lessly,  he  is  afraid  people  will  accuse  him  of  put 
ting  on;  if  he  adopts  a  stiff  and  dignified  man 
ner,  as  best  suits  his  attire,  he  thinks  that  he  is 
awkward;  and,  in  any  case,  he  is  likely  to  be 
overtaken  at  last  by  the  comfortless  conviction 
that  people  are  not  noticing  him  at  all.  With 
these  emotions,  and  others,  the  author  makes  his 
bow. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

I  His  FIRST  APPEARANCE  1 

II  TRIALS  AND  TRIBULATIONS  9 

p  III  BOYISH  DREAMS  18 

IV  As  FATHER  OF  THE  MAN  27 

V  THE  LAST  DAT  OF  SCHOOL  35 

VI  VACATIONS  AND  CHORES  44 

VII  THE  HIRED  HAND  AND  "HA'NTS"  54 

VIII  BEING  SICK  64 

IX  A  SUMMER  DAY  72 

X  THE  COUNTY  FAIR  79 

XI  IN  WINTER  89 

XII  CHRISTMAS  98 

XIII  THE  PLOWMAN'S  WEARY  WAY  104 

XIV  BUDDING  116 
0  XV  THE  BANE  OF  BASHFULNESS  126 

XVI  THE  RALLY  136 

XVII  A  SORROWFUL  DENOUEMENT  145 

XVIII  A  BOOK  WORM  153 

XIX  THE  BOY  INVENTOR  161 

XX  WHEN  His  MOTHER  DIED  168 

XXI  THE  FLEDGLING'S  FLIGHT  175 

XXII  IN  A  GREAT  CITY  183 

XXIII  A  MISFIT  191 

XXIV  THE  MIRACLE  OF  MARRIAGE  199 
XXV  THE  NEW  BOY  207 


"  O  wonderland  of  way  ward  childhood !  what 
An  easy,  breezy  realm  of  summer  calm 
And  dreamy  gleam  and  gloom  and  bloom  and  balm 
Thou  art! — The  Lotus-Land  the  poet  sung — 
It  is  the  Child -World,  when  the  heart  beats  young. 

— RILEY. 


JOHNNIE 


HIS    FIRST    APPEARANCE 

IT  was  in  the  morning  of  the  first  day  of 
school.  The  boys  had  collected  in  the  far  corner 
of  the  yard,  where  they  were  industriously  tak 
ing  turns  at  wrestling  with  the  New  Boy  with 
the  intent  of  determining  once  for  all  his  proper 
place  in  the  social  scale  of  the  district.  The 
girls,  in  blue-checked  and  red-plaid  pinafores, 
were  grouped  upon  the  stile,  their  arms  sweetly 
encircling  one  another's  waists,  while  they  made 
scornful  remarks  about  the  New  Girl,  a  shy,  frail 
midget  in  drooping  black  sunbonnet,  who  stood 
sadly  apart  grasping  a  battered  dinner-pail,  her 
eyes  fixed  on  the  ground. 

"Well,  here  comes  another !"  exclaimed  one  of 
the  larger  girls,  glancing  up  the  road.     "Who 
can  it  be?     I  thought  everybody  was  here." 
1 


JOHNNIE 

No  one  was  actually  in  sight  as  yet;  but  far 
up  the  road  there  approached  a  revolving,  pyra 
midal  pillar  of  dust,  such  as  only  a  schoolboy 
or  a  runaway  horse  can  produce.  On  it  came, 
swaying  and  wavering  like  a  miniature  whirl 
wind  ;  and  the  girls  went  gingerly  out  to  meet  it. 
As  it  drew  near,  the  wraith  of  a  round,  smiling 
face  could  be  discerned,  a  faint  nucleus  floating 
in  the  midst  of  the  yellow  nimbus.  Then  a 
dust-covered  waist  was  revealed  below  the  face, 
and,  finally,  two  tiny  twinkling  feet.  The 
nucleus  suddenly  halted  opposite  the  school- 
house,  and,  as  the  dust  dissolved  and  drifted 
away,  a  fixed  and  mask-like  grin  took  the  place 
of  the  smile.  It  was  another  new  scholar,  and 
the  girls  immediately  gathered  about  him  with 
the  curiosity  of  fawns  and  women. 

"I  believe  it's  Mrs.  Winkle's  little  boy,"  ob 
served  one.  "What  is  your  name,  dear?" 

"Jawnnie  Winkle,  'n  I'm  six  years  old,"  he 
recited  promptly  with  automatic  solemnity,  put 
ting  on  the  grinning  mask  again  with  a  smirk 
as  soon  as  he  finished.  His  mother  had  drilled 
him  all  morning  upon  this  phrase  so  that  he 
might  properly  introduce  himself  to  the  teacher, 
2 


HIS    FIRST    APPEARANCE 

and  he  had  repeated  it  with  every  step  as  he 
came  careening  down  the  road.  The  bevy  of 
girls  pressed  closer,  and  one  bent  over  and  tried 
to  kiss  him.  Without  changing  his  expression 
he  ducked  and  dodged  through  the  phalanx  of 
skirts  with  the  celerity  of  a  weasel.  Stopping 
at  some  distance  he  suddenly  thrust  his  hand 
into  his  pocket  and  brought  forth  a  panting, 
half-dead  toad. 

"Say,  this'll  make  warts!"  he  exclaimed  with 
dilating  eyes. 

"Why  Johnnie  Winkle!"  cried  the  girls  in 
dismay.  "Throw  that  nasty  thing  away! 
You  ought  to  be  ashamed !" 

"I  don't  keer,"  he  laughed,  "I  like  'em,  an' 
I'm  goin'  to  have  warts  on  both  hands  an'  on 
my  toes,  too,"  and  sitting  down  in  the  middle 
of  the  road  he  proceeded  to  rub  the  batrachian 
over  his  feet.  Then  there  came  a  jangle  of  bells 
and  a  pell-mell  rush  for  the  schoolroom.  When, 
a  few  moments  later,  the  teacher  looked  up  in  the 
full  glow  of  her  new-found  dignity,  all  her  sub 
jects  had  preempted  their  claims.  Every  back 
seat  had  from  two  to  four  occupants,  and  the 
foreground  contained  only  Johnnie  and  the  New 
3 


JOHNNIE 

Girl,  who  in  their  innocence  had  taken  a  seat 
side  by  side  directly  under  her  nose. 

It  was  Johnnie's  first  appearance — his  initial 
journey  out  into  the  world.  Heretofore  all  his 
wisdom  had  been  drawn  from  his  mother's  lips, 
and  his  naughtiness  spun  from  his  own  little 
heart ;  but  now  a  new  era  had  arrived,  and  hence 
forth  he  was  to  learn  wisdom  and  wickedness  by 
contact  with  the  world.  It  was  with  such  re 
gretful  reflections  that  his  mother  had  started 
him  schoolward  that  morning  and  then  gone 
sobbing  into  the  house. 

It  was  with  the  shade  of  a  similar  thought, 
too,  that  the  teacher  looked  down  into  the  depths 
of  his  blue  eyes  as  he  grinned  shyly  up  at  her; 
but  Johnnie  himself  was  oppressed  by  no  dis 
mal  forebodings.  His  mind  was  completely  oc 
cupied  with  the  novelties  and  wonders  about  him. 
His  name  and  age  were  soon  successfully  im 
parted  to  the  teacher,  and,  this  having  been  im 
pressed  upon  him  as  the  chief  duty  to  be  per 
formed,  he  felt  himself  free  to  look  about.  The 
huge  blackboards  and  gaily  colored  maps  on 
the  wall,  the  queer  seat  he  occupied,  the  teacher, 
the  pupils,  the  droning  stillness,  the  cracks  in 


HIS    FIRST    APPEARANCE 

the  floor,  the  toad  in  his  pocket,  all  drew  his 
attention  by  turns. 

Gradually  the  steady  monotony  of  school  life 
completely  possessed  him,  and  the  day  grew 
long  and  drowsy.  Little  twinges  of  homesick 
ness  contorted  his  features  toward  evening,  but 
he  was  brave,  and  would  have  held  out  firmly 
except  for  an  untoward  circumstance.  The 
toad,  which  he  had  secretly  cherished  in  his 
pocket  all  day,  died,  and  at  recess  an  older  boy 
informed  him  gravely  that  this  disaster  would 
cause  his  father's  cows  to  give  bloody  milk. 
Such  a  distressing  calamity  was  too  much  for 
his  already  tremulous  emotions,  and  he  broke 
down.  Kind  words  on  the  part  of  the  big  girls 
were  unavailing;  even  the  gentle  teacher  could 
not  comfort  him. 

"I  want  to  go-o-o  home!"  he  sobbed,  and 
home  he  went. 

Long  and  weary  was  the  way.  The  very  dust 
seemed  heavy  and  cheerless,  and  he  would  have 
cried  all  the  way  but  that  he  was  alone.  The 
most  lavish  boy  will  not  waste  many  tears  on 
the  desert  air.  Once  he  thought  he  saw  a  snake, 
and  after  that  he  imagined  it  was  trailing  close 
5 


JOHNNIE 

at  his  heels,  thus  adding  a  new  terror  to  his  bur 
den.  As  he  came  by  the  pasture  he  noticed  the 
cows  calmly  munching  grass,  apparently  un 
mindful  of  the  dire  spell  upon  them,  and  the 
tears  started  afresh  as  he  thought  of  their 
blameless  innocence  and  his  own  guilt.  He  said 
nothing  about  the  true  cause  of  his  perturba 
tion  at  home,  but  after  milking-time  examined 
the  crocks  with  stealthy  care.  No  blood  could 
be  detected,  yet  his  faith  in  the  potency  of  the 
murdered  toad  was  unshaken.  The  bona-fide 
appearance  of  several  warts  on  his  hands  within 
the  week  had  demonstrated  the  power  of  the  liv 
ing  creature  beyond  peradventure. 

The  melancholy  and  somewhat  unheroic  end 
ing  of  his  first  day  at  school  made  Johnnie  re 
solve  never  to  go  again.  But  he  was  forcefully 
persuaded  to  reconsider  the  matter  next  morn 
ing,  and  he  set  out  once  more  with  a  bold  heart. 

Thereafter  he  speedily  developed  into  a  genu 
ine  schoolboy — a  species  of  urchin  distinctively 
and  everlastingly  differing  from  the  home-boy. 
That  he  acquired  knowledge  can  not  be  denied, 
but  that  he  made  any  conscious  effort  to  do  so 
is  extremely  doubtful.  The  average  small  boy 
6 


HIS    FIRST    APPEARANCE 

in  school  spends  one-fifth  of  his  time  looking 
out  of  the  window,  one-fourth  in  dreaming,  and 
one-half  in  miscellaneous  mischief.  The  re 
mainder  is  devoted  to  his  studies. 

As  time  went  on,  Johnnie,  being  a  boy  of 
some  native  originality,  dreamed  all  sorts  of 
things  and  invented  several  new  forms  of  mis 
chief.  One  of  his  favorite  ways  of  amusing 
himself  was  to  borrow  a  tremendous  "jogaphy" 
from  one  of  the  older  girls  and  study  its  illustra 
tions,  or  make  imaginary  journeys  across  the 
maps,  which  he  vaguely  knew  represented  the 
big  world  outdoors.  As  he  became  better  versed 
in  geographical  matters,  he  learned  that  Eng 
land  was  a  red  country,  that  Germany  was  blue, 
and  that  Italy  was  boot-shaped  and  green.  He 
discovered  yellow  and  purple  and  beautiful  pink 
countries,  also,  here  and  there,  and  pictured 
their  marvelous  radiance  to  himself  by  the  hour. 
When  the  contemplation  of  these  wonders  grew 
tiresome  the  huge  book  made  a  splendid  screen 
behind  which  he  could  retire  to  indulge  in  other 
pleasant  diversions. 

Johnnie  made  remarkable  progress  in  the  art 
of  reading.  Within  a  few  weeks  he  could  read 
7 


JOHNNIE 

quite  as  well  off  the  book  as  on.  After  noting 
the  pictorial  part  of  the  lesson  for  an  instant, 
he  would  look  toward  the  ceiling  and  chant, 
"The — cat  is — on  the — mat ;"  or,  fixing  his  eyes 
on  the  teacher,  exclaim  emphatically,  "I  see  a 
fat  hen!" 

Spelling  was  a  particularly  delightful  vocal 
exercise  to  him,  and  he  would  wriggle  and 
squirm  and  twist  his  fingers  ecstatically  as  he 
sang,  "Sa-ty,  cat ;  ba-ty,  bat ;  ra-ty,  rat ;  ta-ty, 
tat;  za-ty,  zat" — and  he  could  have  gone  still 
farther  if  the  alphabet  had  held  out. 

Penmanship  he  found  more  difficult.  The 
arbitrary  way  in  which  pot-hooks  had  to  be 
made  perplexed  him;  and  in  following  the  elu 
sive  copy  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  call  into 
play  every  muscle  in  his  body,  contorting  his 
toes  and  twisting  his  tongue  convulsively  with 
each  right  or  left  curve. 

In  the  main,  school  life  was  running  smoothly 
enough  for  Johnnie;  but,  alas,  he  had  yet  to 
experience  his  first  fight,  his  first  flogging,  and 
his  first  love  affair. 


8 


TRIALS    AND    TRIBULATIONS 

JOHNNIE,  being  a  very  important  member  of 
a  small  family,  was  somewhat  spoiled.  A  few 
days  at  school  sufficed  to  reveal  a  certain  un 
seemly  air  of  pride  and  superiority  about  him. 
This  was  evinced  more  especially  in  his  manners 
and  general  appearance.  Instead  of  the  blue 
"hickory"  shirt  and  jeans  trousers  of  his  mates, 
he  wore  a  starched  cambric  waist  and  cloth 
knickerbockers.  His  face  was  clean  and  his  hair 
combed  each  morning.  Moreover,  now  and 
then  he  used  strange,  grammatical  forms  of 
speech.  Once  he  said,  "I  saw  a  bird's  nest." 
Whereupon  he  was  greeted  by  the  jeering  in 
quiry,  "Did  ye  saw  it  clean  in  two?"  Ah,  woe 
fully  out  of  place  is  boyish  aristocracy  in  the 
democratic  public  school! 

His  peculiarities  came  more  and  more  into 
notice  as  time  passed,  and  the  other  boys  took 
to  calling  him  "girly."  They  also  made  faces 
9 


JOHNNIE 

at  him  and  thumped  him  and  wallowed  him  in 
the  dirt  for  his  pride's  sake.  Being  by  nature 
non-combatant,  Johnnie  put  up  with  this  con 
tumely  in  meekness  for  some  time,  answering 
jeers  with  grins  and  spiteful  words  with  silent 
tears;  but  there  came  a  day  when  forbearance 
was  exhausted. 

Jimmy  Jenks  proved  to  be  the  last  straw. 
Jimmy  was  a  little  wisp  of  impudence  and  vi- 
ciousness  of  Johnnie's  own  age,  but  belonging 
to  the  opposite  extreme  of  Boydom.  He  had 
the  cheeks  of  a  pig,  the  beady  eyes  of  a  rat,  and 
a  suggestively  simian  head  mounted  by  a  shock 
of  bristling  red  hair.  To  these  conglomerate 
features,  his  mental  and  moral  attributes  corre 
sponded  to  a  nicety.  One  recess  he  made  his 
first  and  last  attack  on  Johnnie.  Johnnie  was 
in  the  best  of  humors  as  he  approached  the  group 
of  boys  behind  the  school  building  and  breath 
lessly  began  to  introduce  what  he  expected  would 
be  a  delightful  bit  of  information  with, 

"Say!" 

"Aw,  say  't  yourself,  ye've  got  yer  mouth 
open,"  drawled  Jimmy,  stepping  forward. 


10 


TRIALS    AND    TRIBULATIONS 

Johnnie's  mouth  immediately  closed  droop- 
ingly. 

"Ye're  a  purty  feller,"  continued  Jimmy, 
still  advancing,  "an'  ye  darsn't  take  it  up !" 

Johnnie  backed  away,  and  the  whole  crowd 
began  hooting  him  and  urging  his  adversary 
on. 

"Cowardy!  Cowardy-calf !"  they  cried;  and, 
"That's  right,  Reddy;  give  it  to  him!" 

"I  double  dare  ye,"  exclaimed  Jimmy  scorn 
fully,  "an'  if  ye'll  take  a  double  dare,  ye'll  steal 
a  hog  an'  eat  the  hair !" 

Johnnie  was  growing  pale  and  restless.  He 
dug  his  toes  into  the  ground  and  clenched  his 
hands.  Jimmy  leaned  forward  and  valiantly 
tapped  him  on  the  cheek.  Then  Johnnie  fled. 
Jimmy  was  at  his  heels,  and  a  hilarious  yell 
went  up  from  the  other  boys  as  they  joined  in 
the  chase.  Suddenly  they  brought  up  at  the 
back  fence,  and  Johnnie  was  compelled  to  face 
his  foe.  Further  retreat  was  impossible. 

"Look  out  now,  Reddy;  I'm  goin'  to  fight," 
warned  Johnnie;  and  fight  he  did.  There  was 
not  much  science  in  the  battle,  but  there  was  a 


11 


JOHNNIE 

great  deal  of  fury.  All  the  gibes  and  slights 
and  snubs  of  many  days  welled  up  in  Johnnie's 
breast,  and  made  a  hero  of  him.  Jimmy  was 
thrown  to  the  ground,  was  chugged,  was  pinched 
and  slapped,  and  finally  sat  upon  in  the  region 
of  the  stomach  and  churned. 

"Now,  I  guess  you'll  behave  yourself,"  ob 
served  Johnnie,  pausing  astride  his  victim. 
Then  came  the  teacher. 

"Boys!  Boys!"  she  cried;  and  the  battle  was 
ended. 

"He  called  me  names!"  whined  Jimmy,  when 
the  trouble  was  under  investigation  behind  closed 
doors  that  evening. 

"What  did  he  call  you,  James?"  asked  the 
teacher. 

"Why,  he — he  cussed,  an'  called  me  R-r-red- 
dy." 

"Johnnie,  what  have  you  to  say  to  this?" 

"Nothin'." 

"You  may  step  this  way,  Johnnie,"  came  the 
stern  command. 

The  boy  outside  at  the  key-hole  clapped  his 
hands  softly  as  he  whispered  to  his  mates : 


TRIALS    AND    TRIBULATIONS 

"By  hoky,  Girly's  game!  He  ain't  even 
whimpered." 

Whack,  whack,  whack,  went  the  whip  within. 
Then  there  was  a  lull,  but  no  sound  of  sobs  could 
be  heard. 

"Now  it's  Reddy's  turn,"  said  the  boy  ex 
pectantly. 

"O  teacher,  O — boo-hoo — I  couldn't  help  it 
— he  pitched  onto  me, — Oh,  my  back's  awful 
sore,  an'  I  got  biles  on  my  legs.  Oh,  please, 
please  don't,  teacher, — " 

Thus  wailed  Jimmy,  and  the  boy  at  the  key 
hole  danced  gleefully  until  pushed  aside  by  a 
companion,  when  he  rolled  on  the  grass  and 
hugged  himself  and  kicked  up  his  heels. 

Johnnie  Winkle  was  straightway  placed  up 
on  a  pedestal  by  his  admiring  schoolmates,  and 
the  porcine  Jimmy  became  his  high  priest.  But 
there  was  a  sorrowful  sequel  to  the  flogging. 
Johnnie's  mother  had  often  assured  him  that  if 
he  ever  got  a  whipping  at  school  he  would  get 
another  at  home.  This  threat  caused  him  to  be 
very  reticent  about  the  affair,  and  his  silence 
might  have  saved  him  had  not  his  cousin,  Elmira 


13 


JOHNNIE 

Mulkins,  gone  home  with  him  on  Friday  night. 
She  was  a  girl  of  confiding  ways.  She  confiden 
tially  told  Johnnie  on  the  way  home  that  she 
would  say  nothing  about  his  trouble,  and  then 
confidentially  informed  Mrs.  Winkle  of  the 
whole  affair.  A  double  punishment  was  the  re 
sult.  The  long-suffering  Johnnie  was  whipped 


for  getting  whipped  at  school,  and  sent  to  bed 
supperless  for  not  telling  about  it.  And  it  all 
happened  because  he  had  resented  an  unpro 
voked  insult. 

A  boy's  sense  of  justice  is  very  keen.  When 
punished  for  downright  remissness  he  accepts  it 
as  a  matter  of  course,  but  one  single  lick  amiss 
puts  him  out  of  joint  with  the  entire  system  of 
domestic  government — legislative,  judicial,  and 
executive.  Johnnie's  state  of  mind,  as  he 
limped  off  to  bed,  was  desperate.  So  rebellious 
was  his  mood  that  he  deliberately  omitted  saying 
his  prayers,  and  went  to  bed  without  washing 
his  feet.  He  kicked  all  the  covers  off  the  bed,  and 
had  a  notion  to  die.  There  was  some  consola 
tion  in  picturing  his  mother's  grief  and  the  dis 
tress  of  his  teacher  when  he  should  be  discovered 
next  morning,  beaten  and  starved  and  frozen  to 
14 


TRIALS    AND    TRIBULATIONS 

death.  But  so  overwrought  was  his  childish 
imagination  that  he  soon  passed  from  the  mere 
conception  to  the  absolute  conviction  of  impend 
ing  dissolution.  Then  he  became  frightened. 
Bouncing  out  of  bed,  he  repeated  his  "Now  I 
lay  me  down  to  sleep"  anxiously  on  penitent 
knees.  This  solemn  duty  having  been  per 
formed,  he  felt  more  calm,  and  once  more  took 
up  the  thread  of  vengeful  thoughts. 

Probably  his  wounded  spirit  would  take  its 
upward  flight  about  midnight,  when  the  house 
was  still  and  all  were  sleeping ;  but  in  case  it  did 
not,  in  case  he  should  open  his  eyes  on  the 
cruel  world  again  to-morrow,  he  resolved  to  run 
away.  It  had  come  to  this.  There  was  no  use 
in  trying  to  be  a  good  boy  in  a  community  where 
the  wicked  were  pardoned,  while  the  upright 
were  trodden  in  the  dust.  He  searched  through 
his  meager  knowledge  of  geography  for  a 
region  that  would  suit  him,  and  finally  hit  upon 
Ethiopia.  He  would  take  a  box  of  shoe  polish 
along,  and,  blacking  his  face,  become  a  fierce 
little  cannibal  boy  and  a  heathen,  and  if  mis 
sionaries  from  dark  America  came  fooling 
around  he  would  help  eat  them. 
15 


JOHNNIE 

With  this  soothing  reflection  he  fell  asleep. 
He  was  still  alive  next  morning,  and  so  very 
hungry  that  he  decided  to  take  breakfast  once 
more  with  his  obdurate  parents. 

But  he  remained  silent  and  sullen,  and  slipped 
the  shoe  polish  into  his  pocket  ominously  at  the 
first  opportunity.  Before  going,  however,  he 
concluded  to  give  cousin  Elmira  a  crushing  fare 
well. 

"You'll  be  sorry  for  what  you  done  'fore 
long,  Smarty,"  he  began  reproachfully  as  soon 
as  he  found  her  alone. 

"Now,  Johnnie,"  replied  the  girl  tearfully, 
"I  didn't  mean  to— to— " 

"Yes,  you  did.  D'ye  see  that?"  and  he  pro 
duced  the  box  of  blacking.  "That's  to  black 
my  face  with  when  I  git  to  be  a  wild  cannibal," 
and  he  tried  to  look  terrible. 

"Oh,  Johnnie  Winkle!" 

"Yes — I'm  goin'  to  run  off,"  he  went  on  des 
perately.  "I'm  goin'  to  Ethiopia  an'  kill  an' 
eat  people  up;  an'  you  caused  it  all,  too,"  he 
added,  choking  as  the  pathos  of  the  situation 
overcame  him;  "an'  you're  a  mean  thing!" 

"Johnnie  Winkle,  I'll  tell  your  ma !" 
16 


TRIALS    AND    TRIBULATIONS 

"Yes,  you're  nothin'  but  a  reg'lar  tattletale, 
dog-gone  it !" 

"Oh-h,  an'  I'll  tell  her  you  swore !" 
This  dreadful  slip  of  profanity  turned  the 
tide.  In  order  to  persuade  Elmira  not  to  tell 
of  it,  Johnnie  was  forced  to  promise — "hope  to 
die" — that  he  would  not  run  away — this  time, 
at  least.  Moreover  he  consented  to  do  penance 
by  playing  house  with  her,  and  was  kind  and 
gentle  all  day  long. 


17 


BOYISH    DREAMS 

CHILDHOOD  is  strikingly  a  time  of  action, 
and  yet  essentially  a  season  of  dreams.  The 
boy's  brain  is  as  nimble  and  restless  as  his  body. 
He  is  always  thinking,  thinking;  and  the  num 
ber  of  facts  at  his  command  is  so  limited  that 
he  is  constantly  compelled  to  resort  to  fancies 
for  mental  aliment.  The  seven-year-old's  store 
of  absolute  knowledge  is  very  lean.  "The  earth 
is  round  like  a  ball  or  an  orange.  It  rotates  on 
its  axis  and  has  a  pole  at  each  end."  He  has 
seen  axes  and  poles ;  and  here  his  imagination 
steps  in  and  draws  the  mental  picture  of  a  huge 
yellow  orange,  with  a  telegraph  pole  protruding 
from  each  end  and  resting  on  a  pile  of  polished 
axes. 

Whichever  way  he  turns  it  is  the  same.  A 
few  inconsistent  and  distorted  facts  are  given 
him,  out  of  which  fancy  proceeds  to  weave  a 
queer  fabric  of  consistent  but  erroneous  concep 
tions. 

18 


BOYISH    DREAMS 

Day  after  day  he  puts  the  one  great  unan 
swerable  query,  "Why?"  He  asks  it  of  him 
self,  of  the  beasts  of  the  field,  the  fowls  of  the 
air;  he  inquires  of  his  omniscient  parents;  and 
the  replies  he  receives — what  are  they?  The 
seasons  change,  the  squirrels  go  on  sorting  the 
good  nuts  from  the  bad,  the  birds  build  their 
nests  and  sing  and  fly  away,  and  his  father  says, 
"Never  mind !" 

Perhaps  the  real  knowledge  of  his  elders  is 
not  so  far  in  excess  of  his  own ;  but  men  have 
become  accustomed  to  their  own  ignorance,  they 
have  accepted  the  immutable  relationship  of 
things,  have  separated  the  natural  from  the 
supernatural,  and  attained  poise.  They  have 
learned  to  crawl  and  abandoned  all  hope  of  fly 
ing.  But  to  the  boy  all  things  are  strange  and 
contradictory.  To  him  the  probable,  the  pos 
sible,  and  the  impossible  are  confusingly  alike 
and  confoundingly  different. 

Out  of  his  heterogeneous  stock  of  fact  and 
fancy  he  compiles  a  philosophy  all  his  own ;  and 
there  are  few  things,  indeed,  in  heaven  and 
earth  of  which  his  philosophy  never  dreams. 


19 


JOHNNIE 

No  two  children  have  quite  the  same  code,  or 
see  the  same  visions ;  but  they  are  dreamers,  all. 

Johnnie  Winkle's  mental  vagaries  were 
boundless.  He  was  always  wondering  and  wish 
ing.  On  the  way  to  school  he  saw  a  hawk  so 
high  in  the  air  that  it  seemed  a  mere  gray  speck 
against  the  azure.  He  sat  down  at  the  roadside 
and  followed  it  with  envious  eyes.  He  wished 
he  could  fly,  and  wondered  why  he  could  not. 
Why  should  a  vicious  bird  of  prey  be  permitted 
to  soar  among  the  clouds,  while  a  nice  little  boy, 
who  attended  Sunday-school  regularly  and 
obeyed  his  parents,  had  to  trudge  along  in  the 
dust?  If  boys  could  not  learn  to  fly,  why  was 
he  a  boy?  Why  wasn't  the  hawk  a  boy,  and 
the  boy  a  hawk?  How  pleasant  to  be  a  baby- 
hawk,  with  nothing  to  do  from  day  to  day  but 
lounge  about  in  a  downy  nest  and  eat  worms 
and  grow  feathers !  And  to  know  that  some  day 
you  could  go  sailing  away,  away,  oh,  every 
where  !  Sometimes  it  was  a  squirrel  that  he  en 
vied,  sometimes  a  mouse.  The  happy  lot  of  the 
little  fledgling  chicken  he  particularly  coveted. 
How  inexpressibly  cozy  it  must  be  at  bed-time  to 


BOYISH    DREAMS 

creep  under  the  hen-mamma's  soft  wing,  and 
chirp  one's  self  to  sleep ! 

Having  formulated  the  wish,  the  fairy  wand 
of  fancy  would  often  come  to  his  aid  with  magic 
make-believes.  Flapping  his  arms,  he  would 
give  a  glad  cry  and  go  soaring  down  the  road, 
with  bird-like  grace  and  lightness,  finally  to 
perch  on  the  school-yard  fence  and  plume  his 
wings  and  sing.  Now  and  then  he  would  come 
to  school  in  the  guise  of  a  horse  or  a  cow.  He 
was  frequently  transformed  into  a  fox  or  a  rab 
bit,  and  sometimes  he  impersonated  a  whole  pack 
of  hounds.  On  occasions  he  even  became  an 
engine  and  train  of  cars,  puffing  and  whistling 
laboriously. 

Johnnie  was  a  dreamer,  with  plenty  of  time 
and  material  for  dreams ;  but  his  imaginings 
were  not  always  of  this  idle  and  extravagant  na 
ture.  Slowly,  as  the  days  passed,  there  sprout 
ed  odd  little  germs  of  sentiment  within  his 
breast.  From  the  first  day  at  school  he  had 
formed  childish  prejudices  for  and  against  cer 
tain  of  his  mates;  but  now  he  began  to  feel  a 
strange  awkward  attachment  for  a  particular 


JOHNNIE 

big  girl,  which  was  more  than  a  mere  liking. 
She  was  a  large,  luminous  miss  of  about  twice 
Johnnie's  age.  Her  name  was  Alice  Jones,  a 
remarkably  sweet  name  he  thought.  It  was  she 
who  had  startled  him  by  an  attempt  to  kiss  him 
on  the  morning  of  his  first  appearance,  and  he 
was  more  frightened  than  ever  now  when  he 
looked  back  at  the  occurrence.  It  seemed  to 
Johnnie  that  if  she  should  ever  actually  kiss 
him,  he  would  surely  collapse  with  embarrass 
ment  and  rapture. 

He  fell  to  dreaming  largely  of  Alice,  and 
would  sit  and  stare  at  her  in  school  time  long 
and  worshipfully.  Whenever  his  eyes  chanced 
to  meet  hers,  however,  he  would  wince  and  blush 
guiltily,  turning  it  off  as  best  he  could  by  smil 
ing  stupidly  at  the  New  Girl  who  sat  near  Alice, 
and  whom  he  really  detested. 

In  this  way  Johnnie  went  on  for  weeks.  At 
length  the  conviction  became  fixed  that  he  ought 
to  declare  his  passion  in  some  way ;  and  instinct 
and  observation  alike  pointed  to  writing  her  a 
note  as  the  easiest  and  safest  plan.  It  was  a 
weighty  and  laborious  matter;  and  he  consumed 


BOYISH    DREAMS 

much  time  and  paper  before  he  was  able  to  pro 
duce  a  satisfactory  declaration.    It  ran  thus : 

Dear  allie  sum  loves  1  and  sum  loves  2,  But  I  love  1  and 
that  is  you.    Yours  truly,  J.  W. 

He  folded  it  carefully,  and  stowed  it  away 
in  his  pocket  to  await  the  time  when  courage 
and  opportunity  should  be  ripe  for  its  delivery. 
But  Johnnie's  pocket  was  a  precarious  place  for 
a  note.  The  constant  friction  of  pebbles,  and 
nails,  and  pencils,  and  chalk  made  it  age  rapid 
ly,  and  when  at  last  it  was  fondly  deposited  be 
tween  the  pages  of  Alice's  geography,  borrowed 
for  the  purpose,  it  looked  more  like  an  ancient 
bit  of  papyrus  than  a  modern  love  tale.  It  was 
no  wonder,  under  these  conditions,  that  the  fair 
Alice  failed  to  grasp  its  import  and  thoughtless 
ly  tossed  it  to  the  floor.  Johnnie  saw  her  do  it, 
and  his  heart  sank.  He  winked  and  glared  at 
her,  and  pointed  to  the  note  until  he  perspired, 
but  she  only  smiled  cheerily  back  at  him.  He 
resorted  to  all  manner  of  pantomime  to  no  avail, 
and  finally  in  utter  desperation  attempted  to 
creep  across  the  floor  and  rescue  it  while  the 
teacher's  back  was  turned. 


JOHNNIE 

"Johnnie  Winkle,"  cried  the  teacher  sharply, 
before  he  was  half  across,  "come  here!  Now 
you  may  explain  what  you  were  doing  on  the 
floor." 

"Lookin'  for  my — my  pencil,"  he  gasped  in 
terror. 

"Has  any  one  seen  Johnnie's  pencil?"  she 
asked,  turning  to  the  school. 

"It's  here,  on  his  desk,"  piped  the  boy  who 
sat  behind  him. 

Johnnie  registered  a  vow  to  thrash  that  boy. 

"You  may  take  your  seat  and  remain  after 
school,"  said  the  teacher. 

In  the  meantime  the  New  Girl  had  discovered 
the  ill-fated  note,  and  was  deciphering  its  con 
tents  with  pleasant  thrills.  But  her  name  was 
not  "allie,"  and  as  she  read  it  again,  it  dawned 
upon  her  that  it  had  been  intended  for  other 
eyes.  Then  her  heart  closed  like  a  clam.  Plac 
ing  the  grimy  bit  of  paper  in  her  spelling  book, 
she  approached  the  teacher's  desk  and,  after  a 
feint  of  asking  how  to  pronounce  a  certain  word, 
slipped  the  note  into  the  teacher's  hand. 

"That's  what  he  was  hunting,"  she  whispered 
scornfully. 


BOYISH    DREAMS 

Johnnie  observed  that  the  note  was  gone,  but 
dared  not  guess  its  fate.  Perhaps  Alice  had 
found  it  after  all,  and  hugging  this  hope  and 
fear  he  awaited  developments. 

As  the  other  scholars  filed  out  he  looked  with 
furtive  anxiety  toward  the  teacher,  and  was  re 
assured  to  note  a  mild  twinkle  in  her  eyes.  Pos 
sibly  his  punishment  was  not  to  be  so  very 
severe.  At  length  she  came  and  sat  down  at 
his  side.  Producing  a  scrap  of  paper,  "I  wish 
you  would  write  your  initials  for  me,  Johnnie," 
she  said  kindly.  That  was  easy  enough;  but 
since  she  was  so  good  he  would  take  great  pains. 
He  ran  his  tongue  out  and  proceeded  slowly, 
scrupulously — with  as  great  care  as  when  in 
diting  the  note  to  Alice. 

"That  is  excellent,"  said  the  teacher  approv 
ingly.  "It  looks  very  much  like  this,  too,  does 
it  not?"  and  she  thrust  the  dreadful  note  under 
his  nose.  It  was  terrible.  Johnnie  could  not 
stir — could  not  lift  his  eyes  from  the  accusing 
missive — could  not  even  clear  his  throat.  His 
entire  vitality  seemed  to  have  been  diverted  into 
blushes. 

"Did  you  write  it,  Johnnie?" 
25 


JOHNNIE 

It  would  be  gratifying  to  be  able  to  state 
that  he  replied  bravely  in  the  affirmative. 
But  Johnnie  was  not  a  model;  he  was  just  a 
boy,  and  he  answered  sheepishly  but  resolutely, 
"No'm."  And  the  teacher,  rightly  guessing 
that  his  conscience  would  visit  sufficient  retribu 
tion  upon  him,  let  him  go. 


zip  i  m 


AS    FATHER    OF    THE    MAN 

PERHAPS  the  one  theme  which  furnished 
Johnnie  the  broadest  field  for  speculation,  and 
supplied  the  tissue  of  his  richest  dreams,  was 
what  he  would  do  when  he  became  a  man.  At 
different  stages  of  his  boyhood  he  aspired  to 
almost  every  craft  and  calling,  and  resolved  to 
accomplish  all  sorts  of  things  from  murder  to 
missionary  work.  Few  of  his  intentions  for  the 
future  were  at  all  fixed.  Most  of  them  depended 
upon  some  particular  mood,  and  were  subject  to 
daily  revision.  There  was  but  one  thing  that  he 
was  steadfastly  sure  he  did  not  want  to  be,  and 
that  was — a  boy. 

Among  his  earliest  and  most  revered  heroes, 
whose  example  he  longed  to  emulate,  was  the 
threshing-machine  man.  This  man  was  jolly 
and  wise,  was  always  saying  things  at  which 
people  laughed,  and  knew  all  about  the  wonder 
ful  thresher,  inside  and  out.  Moreover,  he  was 
27 


JOHNNIE 

"boss,"  and  only  worked  when  he  liked.  John 
nie  watched  him  worshipfully  whenever  the  ma 
chine  came  upon  the  Winkle  place.  At  the 
wave  of  his  brawny  hand  every  wheel  started, 
and  stopped.  If  anything  went  wrong  he  knew 
exactly  how  to  adjust  it.  He  would  even  crawl 
calmly  under  or  inside  of  the  monster  machine 
sometimes,  and  this  was  a  feat  to  be  admired  and 
envied  indeed.  Then,  when  the  threshing  was 
under  way — when  the  vibrating  riddles  kept 
time  to  the  whirling  cylinder's  eery  song,  till  the 
very  ground  quaked  and  trembled  with  awe — 
how  airily  he  would  grasp  a  huge  oil  can  and  go 
climbing  here  and  there  amongst  the  maze  of 
moving  belts  and  pulleys,  and  no  one  dared  tell 
him  not  to  do  it.  For  days  after  his  departure 
Johnnie  nursed  the  one  ambition  to  become  a 
famous  threshing-machine  man. 

But  when  he  grew  somewhat  acquainted  with 
the  lot  of  the  locomotive  engineer  his  desires 
took  a  decided  turn  in  that  direction,  and  he  be 
gan  to  dream  of  the  delights  of  driving  an  en 
gine  across  the  country,  with  nothing  to  do  but 
to  ride  and  blow  the  whistle.  What  an  endless 
holiday  such  a  life  must  be !  Still,  he  would  like 
28 


AS    FATHER    OF    THE    MAN 


to  be  a  brakeman,  too,  because  the  brakeman 
could  run  along  the  tops  of  the  moving  cars. 

Once  there  came  a  wonderful  temperance  re 
vival,  and  Johnnie  straightway  relinquished  all 
other  aspirations,  and  wished  only  to  become  a 
reformed  drunkard.  It  would  be  so  good  and 
grand  to  be  able  to  travel  about  denouncing 
rum,  preaching  salvation,  and  telling  what  a  bad 
man  he  had  once  been.  To  stand  before 
charmed  audiences  and  wave  one's  hands  and  call 
everybody  sisters  and  brothers,  to  provoke  smiles 
and  tears  at  will,  to  pour  alcohol  over  eggs  and 
show  how  it  cooked  them,  to  repeat  the  story  of 
the  man  adrift  on  the  raging  river,  and  describe 
the  terrible  plunge  over  the  falls — ah!  it  would 
be  glorious !  Johnnie  practised  temperance 
oratory  secretly  in  the  barn  at  every  opportu 
nity,  and  preached  to  the  horses  and  cows  until 
they  presented  plain  evidence  of  being  under 
conviction. 

But  the  fact  that  he  had  never  actually  been 
a  drunkard  was  against  him,  and  finally  caused 
him  to  abandon  the  field.  The  advent  of  a  cir 
cus  doubtless  helped  to  precipitate  this  step. 
Although  his  parents  were  scrupulously  opposed 
29 


JOHNNIE 

to  "shows,"  this  one  was  so  lavishly  magnificent 
in  its  advertisements  that  they  resolved  to  make 
an  exception  in  its  favor,  compromising  with 
their  consciences  by  arguing  that  it  was  really 
the  instructive  menagerie  which  they  wished  to 
see.  So  they  went  early  and  stayed  through  con 
cert  and  all.  They  would  not  have  entered  the 
circus  tent  at  all,  but  that  the  elephants  were 
going  to  perform  there,  and  they  could  not  af 
ford  to  miss  the  edifying  sight  of  an  elephant 
standing  on  its  head.  Mrs.  Winkle  was  pained 
by  many  things  she  saw  at  the  performance,  es 
pecially  the  profound  interest  in  every  act  mani 
fested  by  Johnnie  and  Mr.  Winkle. 

Johnnie  walked  and  lived  in  a  dream  of  pranc 
ing  horses,  of  trapeze  and  tights,  for  weeks. 
He  fully  determined  to  be  a  showman,  and  prac 
tised  faithfully  to  that  end.  He  came  near 
breaking  his  neck  in  an  attempt  to  execute  a 
double  somersault  in  the  hay-mow  by  making  a 
mathematical  mistake  and  carelessly  turning 
over  just  once  and  a  half  instead  of  twice.  He 
constructed  a  trapeze  out  of  halter  ropes  and 
a  pitchfork  handle,  from  which  he  dangled  in 
daring  poses.  He  painted  his  face  with  poke- 

so 


AS    FATHER    OF    THE    MAN 

berries  and  surreptitiously  borrowed  his  mother's 
hat  in  order  to  play  clown,  and  practised  stand 
ing  on  his  head  till  he  nearly  wore  his  hair  off. 
But  the  lack  of  proper  trappings  was  a  con 
stant  source  of  embarrassment.  His  failure  to 
accomplish  certain  feats  he  believed  to  be  due 
solely  to  this  dearth  of  tights  and  trunks. 
So  he  went  about  constructing  an  outfit. 
From  the  dark  depths  of  the  garret  he  unearthed 
certain  gauzy  remnants,  out  of  which,  with  scis 
sors,  needle,  and  thread  he  pieced  together  a 
strange  and  wonderful  garment.  When  fin 
ished,  it  presented  an  undue  fullness  here  and 
there,  and  occasional  holes,  which  he  had  neg 
lected  to  mend,  but  the  warm  weather  rendered 
them  of  no  consequence. 

It  seemed  an  auspicious  day  for  him  to  ap 
pear.  His  mother  had  company.  Aunt  Mary 
and  Cousin  Elmira  had  come  to  spend  the  day, 
and  shortly  after  them  the  minister  and  his  wife. 
The  latter  couple  had  probably  never  seen  an 
acrobatic  performance,  and  Johnnie  thought 
how  pleased  they  would  be,  and  how  proud  his 
mother  ought  to  be,  when  he  should  present 
himself.  It  chanced  that  the  subject  of  circuses 
31 


JOHNNIE 

was  under  discussion.  The  minister  had  mild 
ly  rebuked  Sister  Winkle  for  her  recent  worldli- 
ness,  and  she  was  feebly  protesting. 

"Now,  Brother  Potter,  I  don't  believe  it  hurt 
a  thing  for  us  to  go  just  that  one  time.  The 
animals  were  real  instructive,  an'  while  I  didn't 
approve  of  the  performance,  I  don't  think  it 
harmed  us  a  mite.  Now,  there's  Johnnie — " 
and  even  as  she  spoke,  there  Johnnie  really  was. 
A  sleeveless  shirt  with  extremely  low  neck,  a 
green  veil  for  trunks,  and  a  nameless  nether 
garment  of  gauze  and  striped  hosiery,  consti 
tuted  his  costume.  He  smiled  and  bowed  grace 
fully  as  he  came  into  view  upon  the  lawn.  Then 
he  began  jauntily  with  a  succession  of  hand 
springs.  Mrs.  Winkle  was  stricken  dumb. 

"Very  instructive,"  murmured  the  minister, 
while  his  wife  looked  pained,  and  Aunt  Mary 
tittered. 

Johnnie  stood  on  his  head,  waving  his  feet. 

"My!  But  that's  splendid!"  cried  Elmira, 
clapping  her  hands. 

Suddenly  the  air  was  rent  with  a  sound  of 
tearing.  Then  Mrs.  Winkle  found  her  tongue. 

"You,  Johnnie !"  she  screamed.     "You,  John- 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


AS    FATHER    OF    THE    MAN 

nie!"  and  Johnnie  retired  in  hasty  disorder. 
But  punishment  was  visited  upon  him  before  he 
had  time  to  put  on  more  substantial  clothes,  and 
its  severity  was  such  that  he  never  donned  tights 
again. 

There  were  many  wrongs  which  Johnnie  ex- 
spected  to  avenge  when  he  should  become  a  man. 
A  certain  big  boy  who  was  always  bullying  him 
was  to  be  so  thoroughly  thrashed  that  he  would 
weep  and  beg  for  mercy.  Cousin  Elmira  was  to 
suffer  for  her  tattling,  and  even  his  parents 
were  to  be  made  to  realize  the  injustice  of  their 
acts.  Yet  a  due  amount  of  reflection  upon  this 
subject  tended  to  soften  his  asperity,  and  he  al 
ways  decided  it  were  better  to  be  generous  than 
merely  just. 

He  would  do  a  great  many  nice  things. 
Those  who  were  becomingly  meek  and  penitent 
he  would  magnanimously  discharge  with  the  in 
junction  to  "go,  and  sin  no  more."  And  if  he 
ever  had  any  little  boys  of  his  own,  how  beauti 
fully  he  would  treat  them.  This  was  one  of  his 
favorite  topics  for  speculation.  His  little  boys 
should  go  to  school  only  when  they  pleased; 
they  should  not  have  to  do  chores;  they  should 


JOHNNIE 

have  pie  for  breakfast — as  many  pieces  as  they 
wished;  they  should  have  hip  pockets  and  wear 
suspenders,  and  go  to  all  the  circuses,  and  have 
ponies  and  lots  of  dogs,  and  a  little  train  of 
cars  to  run  by  steam.  Other  little  boys  would 
come  for  miles  around  to  see  what  a  kind  papa 
his  boys  had. 

Thus  would  Johnnie  dream  and  ponder  until 
he  fairly  worshiped  the  ideal  man  that  he  in 
tended  to  be.  Truly  the  child  is  father  of  the 
man;  but  how  degenerate  a  descendant  he  be 
comes  when  he  has  reached  maturity! 


THE    LAST    DAY    OF    SCHOOL 


GOING  io  school  was  compulsory.  That  was 
the  chief  reason  Johnnie  disliked  it.  If  his  par 
ents  had  held  it  out  to  him  as  a  luxury,  if  they 
had  spoken  of  it  as  an  indulgence  they  could  ill 
afford  and  tried  to  persuade  him  to  be  satisfied 
with  picture-books  at  home,  he  would  have  gone 
or  died.  But  it  was  continually  presented  to  him 
in  the  light  of  a  serious  duty,  and  duties  are 
always  bugbears  to  boyhood.  On  general  prin 
ciples  Johnnie  disliked  the  things  he  ought  to  do, 
and  the  things  he  had  to  do  he  hated.  Such  has 
been  the  primitive  perverseness  of  his  kind  since 
Adam's  fall. 

For  weeks  he  had  been  looking  longingly  for 
ward  to  vacation.  There  was  nothing  he  de 
sired  so  much  as  to  be  free  once  more.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  when  school  closed,  he  would  be  the 
happiest  boy  in  the  world.  He  laid  a  hundred 
plans  for  the  holidays,  including  in  their  scope 
35 


JOHNNIE 

every  sort  of  diversion  from  fishing  to  chasing 
butterflies. 

But  when  the  last  day  of  school  really  came, 
he  did  not  rejoice  as  he  had  anticipated.  All 
day  long  strange  regrets  kept  rising  in  his 
throat  and  choking  him,  an  unaccustomed  sad 
ness  dimmed  his  eyes,  and  dark-browed  melan 
choly  came  and  sat  at  his  side.  The  last  day  of 
school !  The  last  day  of  baseball  and  black  man, 
of  hide-and-seek  and  Ant'ny  Over,  of  Green 
Gravel,  of  Ring  Around  a  Rosy — the  last 
happy  day  of  whispering,  of  smiling  at  girls  and 
writing  notes,  of  play,  of  joy,  of  companionship. 
To-morrow  he  would  be  at  home  and  alone.  To 
morrow  he  would  be  disconsolate  and  altogether 
miserable.  The  last  day.  He  wished — yes,  he 
wished  it  were  but  the  beginning  of  school  again, 
with  all  the  long,  delightful  months  to  follow ! 

He  borrowed  Alice's  geography,  and  slowly, 
as  he  turned  the  leaves — for  the  last  time,  re 
viewed  the  events  of  the  hallowed  past.  How 
many  and  how  dear  were  the  recollections  that 
floated  there  between  him  and  the  book!  Every 
blessed  page  was  intimately  connected  with  some 
irretrievable  by-gone  pleasure.  And  it  was 
36 


THE    LAST    DAY    OF    SCHOOL 

Alice's  book.  His  affection  for  her,  which  had 
languished  of  late,  came  surging  back  resist- 
lessly.  It  was  her  book;  her  name  was  on  the 
fly-leaf,  written  beautifully.  Her  thumb-marks 
underscored  each  lesson;  the  faint,  meadowy 
odor,  exhaling  from  its  pages — ah,  futile  in 
cense  to  departed  days — whispered  of  her!  And 
this  was  the  end  of  all.  Doubtless  other  eyes 
would  gaze  on  the  book,  other  hands  caress 
it,  other  hearts  throb  with  the  love  of  her, 
ere  school  opened  again.  With  brimming  eyes, 
which  shamed  him,  Johnnie  inscribed  on  the  last 
page  that  soulful  sentiment,  sacred  to  all  school- 
memories:  "When  this  you  see,  remember  me," 
and  sealed  it  with  a  tear. 

Nay,  the  love  affairs  of  boyhood  are  not  to  be 
passed  over  in  derision.  Is  not  childhood  a  part, 
the  very  best  part,  of  life?  And  its  passions, 
though  often  transient,  are  they  not  intense  and 
pure?  He  is  hopelessly  old  to  whom  the  senti 
ment  of  the  young  appears  utterly  inane. 

On  this  last  day  of  school  Johnnie's  heart  soft 
ened  toward  the  teacher  also.  He  had  regarded 
her  always  as  a  sort  of  natural  enemy,  whom  it 
was  his  prerogative  to  oppose,  and  for  whom 
37 


JOHNNIE 


anything  more  than  a  cold  respect  was  weakness. 
Yet  she  was  not  such  a  bad  teacher,  after  all; 
and  he  almost  wept  again  with  the  thought  of 
not  seeing  her  any  more.  All  the  boys  and  girls 
seemed  to  assume  more  amiable  outlines  in  the 
perspective  of  the  past.  Even  the  familiar  fur 
niture  of  the  room  took  on  a  golden  glamour, 
and  his  hardest  lessons  smiled  up  into  his  face  in 
the  guise  of  old  friends. 

The  day  was  not  all  given  to  gloom,  however. 
School  was  to  close  with  a  flourish.  A  program 
had  been  prepared,  consisting  of  compositions, 
declamations  and  a  grand  finale  of  competitive 
spelling.  Johnnie,  himself,  was  to  "say  a  piece," 
upon  which  his  mother  had  been  drilling  him  for 
weeks,  and  she  was  coming  after  dinner  to  hear 
him. 

Among  the  throng  of  visitors  came  Alice's 
mother,  too.  Johnnie  looked  upon  her  with  awe. 
To  be  the  parent  of  his  Dulcinea  was  to  be  great. 
Perhaps  it  was  largely  owing  to  her  presence 
that  Johnnie  muddled  his  "speech."  Another 
enervating  circumstance  may  have  been  the  fact 
that  Alice  immediately  preceded  him  with  a  soul- 
stirring  essay  on  "Love  Thy  Neighbor."  At 
38 


THE    LAST    DAY    OF    SCHOOL 


any  rate,  when  Johnnie's  name  was  announced  a 
strange  numbness  came  over  him,  his  knees  trem 
bled,  and  his  identity  was  lost.  It  was  not  really 
Johnnie  who  staggered  to  the  rostrum  and,  in  a 
sepulchral  voice,  murmured  dolefully: 

"Twinkle  little— twinkle  star, 

How  I  wonder" — here  he  paused  and  tried  to 
swallow  the  lump  in  his  throat — 

"How  I  wonder  what  you  are, 

Up  above" — another  gulp — "above  tha  world 
so  high, 

How  I  wonder  what  you  are, 

When  the  golden  grass  is  set," — 

Some  one  tittered,  and,  panic-stricken,  John 
nie  rushed  on  like  a  flock  of  frightened  sheep : 

"When — the — sky — with — dew — is — wet , — 
Then — you — show — your — little — light,  Twin 
kle— all— the— night"— gulp— "night." 

He  finished  in  a  husky  whisper  and  flew  to 
his  seat,  where  his  temporarily  departed  spirit 
presently  rejoined  him.  The  remainder  of  the 
exercises  he  enjoyed  very  well,  especially  the 
New  Girl's  recital  of  Curfew  and  the  Big  Boy's 
interpretation  of  Antony  on  the  Death  of  Caesar. 

The    spelling-match    came    next,    and    here 
39 


JOHNNIE 

Johnnie  shone.  Spelling  was  his  forte.  He 
caught  the  words  in  mid  air  as  the  teacher  gave 
them  out  and  hurled  them  back  confidently,  al 
most  defiantly.  Now  and  then  he  made  a  feint 
of  missing  one,  but  he  would  always  catch  it  on 
the  first  bounce  if  not  on  the  fly  and,  tossing  it 
up  a  time  or  two,  would  send  it  back  unerringly. 
Some  of  the  more  difficult  words  he  literally 
seemed  to  hold  in  his  mouth  and  masticate  a 
while,  just  to  get  the  juice  out  of  them,  but 
they  always  came  forth  right. 

When  the  teacher  loaded  her  mortar  with 
"daguerreotype"  and  fired,  a  hush  fell  on  the 
room,  and  every  one  thought  how  heartless  it 
was  to  aim  such  deadly  artillery  at  so  small  a 
boy.  But,  ere  the  smoke  had  cleared  away, 
Johnnie  was  seen  to  square  himself  and  swell  up 
proudly  for  the  answering  volley. 

"D-a,  da,  g-u-e-r-r-e,  gar,  o,  garo,  t-y-p-e, 
type,  daguerreotype,"  spelled  Johnnie  in  meas 
ured  tones. 

"Right!"  called  the  teacher,  and  the  house 
roared  with  applause. 

At  length  every  scholar  was  spelled  down,  ex 
cept  Johnnie  and  Alice,  and  for  half  an  hour  the 
40 


THE    LAST    DAY    OF    SCHOOL 

victory  lay  between  them.  The  dictionary  was 
drawn  upon,  and  strange,  unnatural  words  never 
before  heard  of,  were  pronounced.  It  was  a  tedi 
ous  battle.  Finally  in  despair,  the  teacher  called 
incisively,  "Caoutchouc !" 

It  was  Alice's  turn,  and  she  misspelled  the 
ghastly  word  miserably. 

"Next,"  sighed  the  teacher,  with  an  air  of 
relief. 

And  Johnnie  spelled  it  right. 

It  was  certainly  either  a  miracle  or  an  acci 
dent,  the  people  whispered.  But,  in  fact,  it  was 
neither.  Johnnie  had  come  upon  the  word  in 
the  back  of  the  geography  one  day,  and  its  very 
formidableness  had  fascinated  him  into  master 
ing  it  then  and  there.  He  was  lionized  by  all, 
and  it  would  have  been  a  proud  moment  for  him 
but  for  the  lamentable  fact  that  his  gain  had 
been  Alice's  loss.  In  the  excitement  of  the  con 
test  he  had  hardly  realized  the  personality  of  his 
opponent.  He  had  been  oblivious  of  everything 
except  the  words  he  was  spelling.  All  uninten 
tionally,  he  felt  that  he  had  done  a  very  ungra 
cious  thing — had  defeated  and  put  to  shame  the 
girl  he  adored. 

41 


JOHNNIE 

"It's  just  the  teacher's  partiality,"  he  heard 
Alice's  mother  whisper ;  "I  don't  believe  he  spelt 
it  right  at  all.  I  doubt  if  they  is  such  a  word, 
anyway.  The  idea !" 

And  amid  all  the  buzz  of  congratulations 
Johnnie  was  profoundly  wretched. 

But,  at  all  odds,  he  had  won  the  prize,  and 
he  hoped  its  possession  might  compensate  him 
to  some  degree.  He  was  called  to  the  platform, 
where,  with  words  of  praise,  such  as  she  had 
never  bestowed  before,  the  teacher  presented  him 
a  book.  He  thrust  it  into  his  pocket  and  started 
to  his  seat  amid  renewed  applause.  But  his 
mother  intercepted  him. 

"Johnnie  Winkle,"  she  whispered  shrilly, 
"where  are  your  manners?  Go  back  and  thank 
your  teacher !" 

Johnnie  had  not  learned  that  inconsistent  but 
imperative  rule  of  custom,  which  requires  an  ad 
ditional  payment  of  thanks  for  honors  already 
well  earned. 

"I'm  much  obliged,"  he  admitted  diffidently, 
facing  about. 

There  was  much  curiosity  expressed  as  to  the 


THE    LAST    DAY    OF    SCHOOL 

book's  probable  contents  and  value,  but  Johnnie 
stubbornly  refused  to  permit  its  inspection. 

The  actual  breaking  up  of  school  was  not  so 
painful  after  all.  Farewells  were  lightly  spoken 
for  the  most  part,  and  sighs  and  tears  kept  in 
abeyance  by  an  assumption  of  gaiety.  Regret 
at  parting  with  a  friend  was  largely  assuaged 
by  getting  his  tag. 

When  he  arrived  at  home,  Johnnie  examined 
his  prize  book.  It  was  a  very  small  and  some 
what  rusty  looking  volume,  across  whose  cover 
was  emblazoned  the  melancholy  title  "Paradise 

Lost" ! 

"H'm — poetry,"  murmured  Johnnie  dejected 
ly,  as  he  turned  the  pages.  Before  night  the 
book  had  been  given  a  place  in  the  family  book 
case,  where  it  reposed  undisturbed  for  many 
years. 


WftM&telf 

r037~.  /A 


43 


.^  f;m**J± 

VI 

VACATIONS    AND    CHORES 

JOHNNIE  WINKLE'S  world  was  narrow.  It 
consisted  only  of  two  or  three  square  miles  of 
farm  land,  bounded  by  an  irregular  horizon  of 
timber,  out  of  which  the  sun  rose  each  morn 
ing,  and  into  which  it  disappeared  each  night. 
Strange,  unearthly  shadows  filled  this  sylvan 
border-land,  and  beyond  lay  mystery  impenetra 
ble.  But  the  sky  reached  to  a  stupendous  height, 
and  was  very  blue  above.  Across  this  world,  as 
the  Milky  Way  girds  the  heavens,  ran  the  coun 
try  road,  a  wonderful,  unknown  path,  leading 
out  of  space  into  space,  and  joining  together  a 
universe  of  a  vastness  and  importance  but  dimly 
guessed. 

It  was  a  small  world,  but  it  was  a  busy  and 
contented  one,  full  of  life  and  sunshine,  and  so 
abundant  in  production  that  its  harvests  contin 
ually  overflowed  into  each  other.  To  a  so- 
journer  from  the  city  it  might  have  presented  a 
44 


VACATIONS    AND    CHORES 

somewhat  drowsy,  humdrum  appearance  at 
times — its  peace  might  have  been  mistaken  for 
solitude,  its  quietude  for  dullness ;  but  to  its  na 
tive  inhabitants,  who  knew  its  under-life  and  the 
subtile,  silent  magic  of  the  seasons,  it  was  the 
best  and  most  beauteous  of  worlds.  For  them  it 
did  not  lack  entertainment.  The  grand  opera 
opened  with  frog  choruses  and  closed  with  a  rare 
solo  by  Madame  Whippoorwill.  Nature  set 
fireflies  aglow  and  hung  out  jack-o'-lanterns 
each  Fourth  of  July ;  and  the  moon  and  stars  oc 
cupied  the  firmament  night  after  night.  Flowers 
sprang  up  and  bloomed  of  their  own  accord,  and 
birds  came  and  sang  melodies  of  freedom.  Fruit 
clustered  on  every  bush,  to  be  had  for  the  pick 
ing.  In  May  mulberries  grew  luscious,  straw 
berries  in  June,  blackberries  in  July;  and  all 
sorts  of  nuts,  not  to  mention  pumpkins,  persim 
mons,  and  papaws,  ripened  during  the  fall. 
There  was  plenty  of  fish  in  the  brooks,  game  in 
the  woods,  and  health,  wealth  and  happiness 
everywhere. 

Such  was  Johnnie's  world — such  was  the  gar 
den  of  Eden !     But  the  tree  of  knowledge  was 
there,  and  the  serpent ;  and  when  one  had  tasted 
45 


JOHNNIE 

the  fruit  he  was  sure  to  realize  his  own  naked 
ness  and  recognize  good  and  evil,  even  as  in 
Paradise.  Moreover,  his  bread  was  not  to  be  ac 
quired  except  by  profuse  perspiration,  and  John 
nie  early  learned  this  lesson. 

Chief  among  his  duties  was  doing  chores,  a 
term  including  all  manner  of  unclassified  labor 
on  the  farm — hewing  wood,  drawing  water,  feed 
ing  cattle,  milking,  riding,  driving,  walking, 
running.  The  catalogue  was  simply  endless. 
Chores  awoke  him  early  each  morning,  and  al 
ways  bade  him  a  tardy,  tired  good  night.  They 
were  never  done.  They  assumed  Protean  shapes 
and  Titanic  dimensions.  He  turned  the  horses 
into  the  pasture  at  night  to  trudge  after  them 
again  in  the  morning;  he  weeded  the  onion  bed 
to-day,  hoed  potatoes  to-morrow,  and  weeded 
the  onion  bed  on  the  day  after.  Whatsoever  he 
sowed  that  also  he  had  to  reap,  and  sow  and  reap 
again.  Nay,  the  Biblical  axiom  did  not  express 
it  by  half;  for  not  only  must  he  reap  and  sow, 
but  prepare  the  soil  and  till  it. 

One  of  the  most  formidable  subdivisions  of  the 
chores  was  known  as  running  errands.  It  was 
always  run ;  never  walk  or  ride.  Run  over  to 
46 


VACATIONS    AND    CHORES 


Mr.  Smith's  and  borrow  his  post-auger;  run 
down  to  Aunt  Mary's  and  get  a  pint  of  flour; 
run  to  the  house  and  fetch  a  jug  of  water;  run 
to  the  field  and  call  the  men  to  dinner;  run  the 
calf  out  of  the  yard;  run  the  pigs  out  of  the 
corn-field ;  run  away ;  run  home ;  run,  run  every 
where  !  That  was  Johnnie's  strongest  reason  for 
wanting  wings,  so  that  he  could  rest  his  limbs 
now  and  then  by  flying. 

Some  people  seemed  to  think  that  boys  never 
grow  tired, — as  if  they  were  not  always  tired, 
except  when  playing. 

Running  errands  would  doubtless  exhaust  all 
boys  and  dwarf  their  natures  beyond  repair  were 
it  not  for  their  genius  for  evasion.  Imagine 
Johnnie  running  all  the  way  to  Aunt  Mary's 
and  back  again  without  once  stopping.  He 
knew  it  was  impracticable,  preposterous ;  for 
how  could  he  run  over  fences  and  through  the 
creek?  No  boy  could  run  in  water  up  to  his 
neck,  and  the  only  other  way  to  cross  was  on  a 
dangerous,  slippery  log.  Being  convinced  that 
the  command  could  not  be  obeyed  literally,  he 
did  not  undertake  it.  He  would  start  in  a  run ; 
but  when  he  came  to  the  creek  he  usually 
47 


JOHNNIE 


stripped  and  swam  it,  dog-fashion,  back  and 
forth  several  times,  and  then  walked  cautiously 
over  the  log;  and  when  he  reached  home  he  ex 
plained  that  his  hair  was  wet  from  having  run  so 
fast. 

But  running  the  pigs  out  of  the  corn  pre 
sented  no  pretext  for  diversion.  There  was  no 
creek  in  the  corn-field,  and  if  there  had  been  the 
pigs  would  never  have  gone  near  it.  Pigs  are 
peculiar  creatures.  Johnnie  believed  they  were 
all  possessed  of  devils,  and  that  it  wras  pure  per- 
verseness  which  caused  them  to  circle  round  and 
round  the  field,  apparently  unable  to  find  the 
crack  in  the  fence  through  which  they  had  en 
tered.  He  would  come  upon  them  rooting  in  the 
middle  of  the  field.  "Woof!  woof!"  they  would 
snort,  and  scatter  in  more  directions  than  there 
were  pigs.  Then  he  would  follow  some  particu 
lar  one  in  a  zigzag  race  to  the  fence.  Just 
ahead  appeared  the  space  between  two  rails, 
marked  by  mud  and  bristles,  where  the  marauder 
had  got  in.  Straight  to  the  crack  the  pig 
would  run  until  fairly  there,  when,  with  a  scared 
look,  it  would  utter  another  "woof!"  and  go 
scurrying  off  at  a  right  angle.  In  the  mean- 
48 


i 

m    '•' 


VACATIONS    AND    CHORES 

time  its  companions  in  crime  were  peacefully 
feeding  again,  and,  seeking  them  out,  Johnnie 
would  choose  another  for  a  second  heat,  with  the 
same  exasperating  result  as  before.  Finally, 
when  he  had  become  absolutely  worn  out  and 
flung  himself  in  a  shaded  fence-corner  to 
breathe,  the  whole  herd  of  swine  would  file  de 
murely  past  him,  and  with  squeal  and  grunt 
march  deliberately  out  of  their  own  free  will. 

There  are  some  kinds  of  work  which  can  be 
slighted,  and,  if  Johnnie  could  have  had  his 
preference,  he  would  always  have  chosen  these. 
For  instance,  when  sent  alone  to  plant  a  pint  of 
beans  by  sticking  holes  near  hills  of  corn — one 
for  each  bean — he  could  economize  time  at  the 
expense  of  beans  by  planting  a  dozen  at  each 
place,  and  throwing  the  last  double  handful  into 
a  bottomless  crawfish  hole. 

But  perhaps  the  most  satisfactory  variety  of 
labor  was  that  which,  by  a  stretch  of  the  imag 
ination,  he  could  persuade  himself  was  not  work 
at  all,  but  play,  or  at  least  some  novel  and  won 
derfully  lucrative  employment.  Johnnie  was  not 
an  utterly  lazy  boy.  It  was  not  action  he  dis 
liked,  but  tedium  and  restraint.  Chiefly  he 
49 


JOHNNIE 

wanted  to  be  a  man,  to  do  a  man's  work,  to  ac 
complish  great  things.  Digging  potatoes  was, 
in  itself,  dismal  drudgery,  but  by  making-be 
lieve  each  potato  was  a  nugget  of  gold  and  him 
self  a  delving  miner  it  became  a  really  splendid 
vocation.  Nor  was  cutting  thistles  in  the  pas 
ture  a  playful  thing,  yet,  when  he  called  each 
plant  an  armed  enemy  and  himself  a  bold 
knight-errant,  it  became  a  pleasant  pastime.  So 
it  was  with  many  forms  of  chore-work,  but  he 
could  never  conjure  up  any  satisfactory  glamour 
for  the  tasks  of  weeding  onions  and  chopping 
stove-wood. 

All  in  all,  Johnnie's  vacations  were  far  from 
empty,  and  he  found  little  time  and  less  inclina 
tion  for  schoolward  yearnings.  In  the  intervals 
between  chores,  he  devised  many  ways  of  amus 
ing  himself,  and  the  dearth  of  boy-companions 
was  largely  supplied  by  his  dog  Pluto.  A  dog 
is  almost  as  good  a  playmate  and  is  a  better 
friend  than  a  boy.  He  never  tires  of  being  "It" 
in  a  game  of  tag,  and  will  endure  every  form  of 
imposition  without  complaining. 

Pluto  was  a  democratic  dog,  having  no  more 
of  a  pedigree  than  his  master.  True,  he  pos- 
50 


VACATIONS    AND    CHORES 

sesscd  traits  which  led  Johnnie  to  believe  that 
he  was  full-blooded;  but  his  ancestry  was  un 
known.  His  yellow  coat  and  squatty  legs  lent 
color  and  form  to  the  conviction  that  he  was  just 
an  ordinary  "fice."  Johnnie  and  Pluto  were 
inseparable.  Much  of  Johnnie's  spare  time  was 
spent  in  teaching  the  dog  tricks.  These  tricks 
were  wonderful  to  relate,  but  rather  disappoint 
ing  to  see,  needing  a  boy's  sympathetic  imagina 
tion  to  point  out  their  intelligence.  At  driving 
cattle  Pluto  was  a  success,  except  that  he  al 
ways  approached  them  from  the  front  and  drove 
them  the  wrong  way.  He  was  an  admirable 
hunting  dog,  so  far  as  hunting  was  concerned, 
but  he  seldom  actually  found  any  game. 

Johnnie  had  two  other  occasional  comrades, 
the  Hired  Hand  and  Cousin  Henry.  The  latter 
was  three  years  his  senior,  and  the  relationship 
between  him  and  Johnnie  was  somewhat  similar 
to  that  existing  between  Johnnie  and  Pluto. 
Great  concessions  were  necessary  on  Johnnie's 
part  before  Cousin  Henry  would  deign  to  play 
with  him ;  and  then  the  sport  had  to  be  conducted 
with  manly  dignity.  Cousin  Henry  chewed  to 
bacco — in  secret — and  could  "cuss."  Moreover, 
51 


JOHNNIE 

it  was  whispered,  and  never  denied  by  him,  that 
he  had  gone  with  girls,  escorting  them  home 
from  meetings  and  parties.  These  accomplish 
ments  commanded  respect,  and  respect  for  him 
compelled  obedience  to  his  wishes. 

Cousin  Henry  condescended  to  pay  Johnnie  a 
visit  about  once  a  fortnight.  For  an  hour  they 
would  get  on  well  enough,  playing  Indian  or 
cowboy.  Then  Henry  would  grow  disgusted. 

"Aw,  say,  this  is  no  fun.  Where's  yer  pa's 
musket  ?" 

"In  the  house,"  Johnnie  would  answer  hesi 
tatingly. 

"Go  get  it." 

"Pa  don't  'low  me  to." 

"Who  ast  him?     Go  git  it,  I  tell  ye." 

Then  Johnnie  would  sneak  into  the  house,  and, 
after  a  short  absence,  would  return  with  the  in 
telligence  that  he  couldn't  find  the  gun  "no 
place" — which  was  grammatically  true,  but  to 
all  intents  a  lie. 

"I'll  tell  ye  what,"  Henry  would  exclaim  a 
few  minutes  later,  "let's  go  over  to  Shank's 
melon-patch." 


VACATIONS    AND    CHORES 

"All  right!"  Johnnie  would  answer  with  ill- 
assumed  alacrity. 

Across  the  fields  they  would  hasten  with  bated 
breath  until  the  fence  in  the  rear  of  the  Shanks' 
premises  was  reached.  There  Henry  would  kneel 
and  point  out  the  melon-patch  to  Johnnie,  whis 
pering  : 

"Now,  you're  smaller'n  me.  You'll  find  the 
best  ones  up  next  to  the  garden.  Be  quick  an' 
keep  yer  eyes  peeled  for  the  dog !"  And  quak 
ing  with  terror,  Johnnie  would  obey.  In  almost 
every  instance  the  dog  saw  Johnnie  and  charged 
on  him  before  he  got  half  way  across  the  lot.  On 
one  occasion  he  was  forced  to  climb  a  peach-tree 
to  save  himself.  Cousin  Henry  forsook  him  ig- 
nominiously,  and  he  might  have  perished  there 
if  Shank's  hired  girl  had  not  come  to  his  re 
lease.  Yet  such  experiences  never  shook  his  faith 
in  Cousin  Henry.  His  constancy  was  very  like 
Pluto's. 

There  are  men,  as  well  as  dogs  and  boys,  who 
will  take  kicks  from  one  and  resent  a  look  from 
another. 


53 


THE    HIRED    HAND    AND 

THE  Hired  Hand  was  Johnnie's  oracle.  His 
auguries  were  infallible ;  from  his  decisions  there 
was  no  appeal.  The  wisdom  of  experienced  age 
was  his,  and  he  always  stood  willing  to  impart 
it  to  the  youngest.  No  question  was  too  trivial 
for  him  to  consider,  and  none  too  abstruse  for 
him  to  answer.  He  did  not  tell  Johnnie  to  "never 
mind"  or  wait  until  he  grew  older,  but  was  ever 
willing  to  pause  in  his  work  to  explain  things. 
And  his  oracular  qualifications  were  genuine. 
He  had  traveled — had  even  been  as  far  as  the 
State  Fair;  he  had  read — from  Robinson  Cru 
soe  to  Dick  the  Dead  Shot,  and,  more  than  all, 
he  had  meditated  deeply. 

The  Hired  Hand's  name  was  Eph.  Perhaps 
he  had  another  name,  too,  but  if  so  it  had  become 
obsolete.  Far  and  wide  he  was  known  simply  as 
Eph. 

Eph  was  generally  termed  "a  cur'ous  feller," 
54 


THE    HIRED    HAND    AND    "HA'NTS" 

and  this  characterization  applied  equally  well  to 
his  peculiar  appearance  and  his  inquiring  dispo 
sition.  In  his  confirmation  nature  had  evidently 
sacrificed  her  love  of  beauty  to  a  temporary  pas 
sion  for  elongation.  Length  seemed  to  have 
been  the  central  thought,  the  theme,  as  it  were, 
upon  which  he  had  been  composed.  This  effect 
was  heightened  by  generously  broad  hands  and 
feet  and  a  contrastingly  abbreviated  chin.  The 
latter  feature  caused  his  countenance  to  wear  in 
repose  a  decidedly  vacant  look,  but  it  was  seldom 
caught  reposing,  usually  having  to  bear  a  smirk 
of  some  sort. 

Eph's  position  in  the  Winkle  household  was 
as  peculiar  as  his  personality.  Nominally  he 
was  a  hired  servant,  but,  in  fact,  from  his  own 
point  of  view  at  least,  he  was  Mr.  Winkle's  pri 
vate  secretary  and  confidential  adviser.  He  had 
been  on  the  place  "ever  sence  old  Fan  was  a 
yearlin',"  which  was  a  long  while,  indeed;  and 
had  come  to  regard  himself  as  indispensable. 
The  Winkles  treated  him  as  one  of  the  family, 
and  he  reciprocated  in  truly  familiar  ways.  He 
sat  at  the  table  with  them,  helped  entertain 
their  guests,  and  often  accompanied  them  to 
55 


VII 


Hand  was  Johnnie's  oracle.     His 
;re  infallible ;  from  his  decisions  there 
?al.     The  wisdom  of  experienced  age 
id  he  always  stood  willing  to  impart 
>ungest.     No  question  was  too  trivial 
consider,  and  none  too  abstruse  for 
•er.   He  did  not  tell  Johnnie  to  "never 
•ait  until  he  grew  older,  but  was  ever 
>ause  in  his  work  to  explain  things, 
•ular    qualifications    were    genuine, 
iveled — had  even  been  as  far  as  the 
he  had  read — from  Robinson  Cru- 
the  Dead  Shot,  and,  more  than  all, 
litated  deeply. 

Hand's  name  was  Eph.  Perhaps 
bher  name,  too,  but  if  so  it  had  become 
'ar  and  wide  he  was  known  simply  as 


generally  termed  "a  cur'ous  feller,' 
54 


'v 


THE    HIRED    HAND   AND    lA'YIV 

nnd  this  characterization  applied  e  ally  well  tc 
his  peculiar  appearance  and  his  inciring  dispo 
sition.  In  his  confirmation  nature  xd  evidently 
sacrificed  her  love  of  beauty  to  a  tciporary  pas 
sion  for  elongation.  Length  sened  to  lm< 
been  the  central  thought,  the  then,  as  it  were, 
upon  which  he  had  been  composed  This  effect 
was  heightened  by  generously  broi  hands  and 
feet  and  a  contrastingly  abbreviati  chin.  The 
latter  feature  caused  his  countenace  to  wear  in 
repose  a  decidedly  vacant  look,  butt  was  seldom 
caught  reposing,  usually  having  tbear  a  smirk 
of  some  sort. 

Eph's  position  in  the  Winkle  busehold  was 
as   peculiar  as   his   personality,     [ominally  he 
was  a  hired  servant,  but,  in  fact,'rom  his  own 
point  of  view  at  least,  he  was  Mr.vVinkle's  pri 
vate  secretary  and  confidential  ad^er.     He  had 
been  on  the  place  "ever  sence  ol  Fan  was  a 
yearlin',"  which  was  a  long  while  indeed ;  and 
had   come   to  regard  himself   as  ndispensable. 
The  Winkles  treated  him  as  one  f  the  family, 
and  he  reciprocated  in  truly  familir  ways.     He 
sat   at   the   table   with   them,    hejed   entertain 
their   guests,   and   often    accompaied  them   to 
55 


JOHNNIE 

church.  In  regulating  matters  on  the  farm  Mr. 
Winkle  proposed,  but  Eph  invariably  disposed, 
in  a  diplomatic  way,  of  course;  and,  although 
his  judgment  might  be  based  on  false  logic,  the 
result  was  generally  successful  and  satisfactory. 

With  all  his  good  qualities  and  her  attach 
ment  to  him,  however,  Mrs.  Winkle  was  not 
sure  that  Eph's  moral  status  was  quite  sound, 
and  she  was  inclined  to  discourage  Johnnie's 
association  with  him.  As  a  matter  of  fact  she 
had  overheard  Johnnie  utter  several  bad  words, 
of  which  Eph  was  certainly  the  prime  source. 
But  a  mother's  solicitude  was  of  little  avail 
when  compared  with  Eph's  Delphian  wisdom. 
Johnnie  would  steal  away  to  join  Eph  in  the 
field  at  every  chance,  and  the  information  he 
acquired  at  these  secret  seances  was  varied  and 
valuable. 

It  was  Eph  who  taught  him  how  to  tell  the 
time  of  day  by  the  sun ;  how  to  insert  a  "dutch- 
man"  in  the  place  of  a  lost  suspender  button; 
how  to  make  bird-traps ;  and  how  to  "skin  a  cat." 
Eph  initiated  him  into  the  mysteries  of  magic 
and  witchcraft,  and  showed  him  how  to  locate 
a  subterranean  vein  of  water  by  means  of  a  twig 
56 


THE    HIRED    HAND    AND    "HA'NTS" 

of  witch-hazel.  Eph  also  confided  to  Johnnie 
that  he  himself  could  stanch  the  flow  of  blood  or 
stop  a  toothache  instantly  by  force  of  a  certain 
charm,  but  he  could  not  tell  how  to  do  this  be 
cause  the  secret  could  be  imparted  only  from 
man  to  woman,  or  vice  versa.  Even  the  shadowy 
domain  of  spirits  had  not  been  exempt  from 
Eph's  investigations,  and  he  related  many  a 
terrifying  experience  with  "ha'nts." 

Johnnie  was  first  introduced  to  the  ghost 
world  one  summer  night,  when  he  and  Eph  had 
gone  fishing  together. 

"If  ye  want  to  ketch  the  big  uns,  always  go 
at  night  in  the  dark  o'  the  moon,"  said  Eph, 
and  his  piscatorial  knowledge  was  absolute. 

They  had  fished  in  silence  for  some  time,  and 
Johnnie  was  nodding,  when  Eph  suddenly  whis 
pered  : 

"Let's  go  home,  sonny,  I  think  I  see  a  ha'nt 
down  yander." 

Johnnie  had  no  idea  what  a  "ha'nt"  might  be, 
but  Eph's  constrained  manner  betokened  some 
thing  dreadful. 

It  was  not  until  they  had  come  within  sight  of 
home  that  Johnnie  ventured  to  inquire : 
57 


'JOHNNIE 


"Say,  Eph,  what  is  a  ha'nt?" 

"Huh!  What  is  ha'nts?  Why,  sonny,  you 
mean  to  tell  me  you  don't  know  what  ha'nts  is?" 

"Not  exactly;  sompin'  like  wildcats,  ain't 
they?" 

"Well,  I'll  be  confounded!  Wildcats!  Not 
by  a  long  shot ;"  and  Eph  broke  into  the  soft 
chuckle  which  always  preceded  his  explanations. 
They  reached  the  orchard  fence,  and,  seating 
himself  squarely  on  the  topmost  rail,  Eph  began 
impressively : 

"Ha'nts  is  the  remains  of  dead  folks — more 
'specially  them  that's  been  assinated,  cr,  that  is, 
kilt — understan'?  They're  kind  o'  like  sperrits, 
ye  know.  After  so  long  a  time  they  take  to 
comin'  back  to  yarth  an'  ha'ntin'  the  pre-cise 
spot  where  they  wuz  murdered.  They  always 
come  after  dark,  an'  the  diff'runt  shapes  they 
take  on  is  supprisin'.  I  have  seed  ha'nts  that 
looked  like  sheep,  an'  ha'nts  that  looked  like  hu 
man  persons ;  but  lots  of  'em  ye  cain't  see  a-tall, 
bein'  invisible,  as  the  sayin'  is.  Now,  fer  all  we 
know,  they  may  be  a  ha'nt  settin'  right  here  be 
twixt  us,  this  minute !" 

With  this  solemn  declaration  Johnnie  shiv- 
58 


THE    HIRED    HAND    AND    "HA'NTS" 

crcd  and  began  edging  closer  to  Eph,  until  re 
strained  and  appalled  by  the  thought  that  he 
might  actually  sit  on  the  unseen  spirit  by  such 
movement. 

"But  do  they  hurt  people,  Eph?"  he  asked 
anxiously. 

Eph  gave  vent  to  another  chuckle. 

"Not  if  ye  understan'  the'r  ways,"  he  ob 
served  sagely.  "If  ye  let  'em  alone  an'  don't  go 
foolin'  aroun'  the'r  ha'ntin'-groun'  they'll  never 
harm  ye.  But  don't  ye  never  trifle  with  no  ha'nt, 
sonny.  I  knowed  a  feller  't  thought  'twuz  smart 
to  hector  'em  an'  said  he  wuzn't  feared.  Onct  he 
throwed  a  rock  at  one — " 

Here  Eph  paused. 

"What  h-happened?"  gasped  Johnnie. 

"In  one  year  from  that  time,"  replied  Eph 
gruesomely,  "that  there  feller's  cow  wuz  hit  by 
lightnin' ;  in  three  year  his  hoss  kicked  him  an' 
busted  a  rib ;  an'  in  seven  year  he  wuz  a  corpse !" 

The  power  of  this  horrible  example  was  too 
much  for  Johnnie. 

"Don't  you  reckon  it's  bedtime?"  he  sug 
gested  tremblingly. 

Thenceforth  for  many  months  Johnnie  led  a 
59 


JOHNNIE 


haunted  life.  Ghosts  glowered  at  him  from  cel 
lar  and  garret.  Specters  slunk  at  his  heels, 
phantoms  flitted  through  the  barn.  Twilight 
teemed  with  horrors,  and  midnight,  when  he 
awoke  at  that  hour,  made  of  his  bedroom  a  veri 
table  Brocken. 

It  was  vain  for  his  parents  to  expostulate  with 
him.  Was  one  not  bound  to  believe  one's  own 
eyes?  And  how  about  the  testimony  of  the 
Hired  Hand? 

The  story  in  his  reader — told  in  verse  and 
graphically  illustrated — of  the  boy  named  Wal 
ter,  who,  being  alone  on  a  lonesome  highway  one 
dark  night,  beheld  a  sight  that  made  his  blood 
run  cold,  acquired  an  abnormal  interest  for 
Johnnie.  Walter,  with  courage  resembling  mad 
ness,  marched  straight  up  to  the  alleged  ghost 
and  laughed  gleefully  to  find,  "It  was  a  friendly 
guide-post,  his  wand'ring  steps  to  guide." 

This  was  all  very  well,  as  it  turned  out,  but 
what  if  it  had  been  a  sure-enough  ghost,  re 
flected  Johnnie.  What  if  it  had  reached  down 
with  its  long,  snaky  arms  and  snatched  Walter 
up — and  run  off  with  him  in  the  dark — and  no 
telling  what?  Or  it  might  have  swooped 
60 


THE    HIRED    HAND    AND    "HA'NTS" 

straight  up  in  the  air  with  him,  for  ghosts  could 
do  that.  Johnnie  resolved  he  would  not  take 
any  chances  with  friendly  guide-posts  which 
might  turn  out  to  be  hostile  spirits. 

Then  there  was  the  similar  tale  of  the  lame 
goose,  and  the  one  concerning  the  pillow  in  the 
swing — each  intended,  no  doubt,  to  allay  fool 
ish  fears  on  the  part  of  children,  but  exercising 
an  opposite  and  harrowing  influence  upon  John 
nie. 

It  happened  about  this  time,  too,  that  Cousin 
Henry  loaned  Johnnie  a  contraband  volume  of 
the  Arabian  Nights.  There  the  miracles  of 
mighty  magic  were  described  in  plain  black  and 
white,  calculated  to  dispel  all  doubts.  Lying 
prone  in  the  haymow,  or  reclining  against  the 
straw-stack,  Johnnie  gloated  over  the  book  by 
the  hour.  There  were  passages  in  the  narratives 
which  became  so  terribly  vivid  that  Johnnie 
would  be  compelled  to  put  the  book  down  and 
run  to  the  house.  In  dreams  of  enchantment  he 
wandered  through  the  adjacent  woods  looking 
for  the  entrance  to  Aladdin's  cave.  He  fancied 
a  dingy  brass  ring  on  his  finger  might  be  a 
magic  talisman,  and  rubbed  it  vigorously,  half 
61 


JOHNNIE 

expecting  and  half  fearing  its  genii  would  ap 
pear.  From  its  garret-grave  he  unearthed  the 
hobby-horse  of  other  days,  and  searched  it  over 
for  a  secret  peg,  such  as  the  Hindu  magician's 
horse  possessed,  and  the  turning  of  which  gave 
the  beast  the  power  of  flying. 

But  Mrs.  Winkle  found  and  confiscated  the 
cherished  book  one  day,  and  its  whilom  en 
chantment  was  smothered  in  misgivings  as  to 
how  he  could  account  for  its  loss  to  its  jealous 
owner. 

The  day  of  judgment  was  not  long  in  com 
ing.  Mrs.  Winkle  sat  up  half  the  night  in 
specting  the  volume,  and  wrestled  with  night 
mares  until  morning.  Then  she  took  it  under 
her  arm  and  hurried  down  to  Aunt  Mary's. 

"Did  you  know  your  boy  was  lending  John 
nie  such  books  as  this?"  she  asked  sharply. 

Aunt  Mary  did  not  know  it.  Indeed  she  had 
never  seen  the  book  before. 

"Well,  it's  dreadful  nonsense,"  said  Mrs. 
Winkle.  "Full  of  witches  and  charms  and  such 
stuff.  Some  of  it  is  downright  wicked;  you 
ought  to  read  it!" 

Aunt   Mary    took   the   book    somewhat    gin- 


THE    HIRED    HAND   AND    "HA'NTS" 

gcrly.  She  was  sure  she  didn't  know  where 
Henry  could  have  got  it,  but  she  would  look 
into  it. 

So  the  book  was  perused  carefully  by  Aunt 
Mary,  who  confessed  herself  duly  horrified  by 
its  contents ;  and,  by  way  of  pointing  the  moral 
of  its  immorality,  Henry  was  severely  punished 
for  having  brought  the  sinful  thing  on  the 
place. 

Henry  got  even  by  thrashing  Johnnie;  but 
Johnnie,  as  usual,  had  to  bottle  his  resentment, 
eking  out  only  a  small  portion  of  it  by  going 
around  behind  the  barn  and  throwing  pebbles  at 
the  chickens.  There  were  times  when  Johnnie 
wished  longingly  for  a  younger  brother. 


/^ 


p] 

&S  A     *     III 


63 


VIII 


BEING    SICK 

To  THE  average  man  being  sick  is  a  very  mel 
ancholy  sort  of  diversion.  He  seldom  has  the 
leisure  time  to  devote  to  it,  and  he  is  always  op 
pressed  with  the  unpleasant  probabilities  of 
speedy  dissolution  and  the  dire  certainty  of  doc 
tors'  bills  to  pay.  But  to  the  average  boy  these 
terrors  occur  not,  and  to  him  being  sick  stands 
next  in  enjoyment  to  a  fishing  excursion.  A 
sick  man  always  has  lungs,  a  heart,  and  a  liver 
— to  say  nothing  of  a  self-assertive  stomach — 
and  these  organs  are  constantly  becoming  fatal 
ly  deranged  so  as  to  require  his  strict  attention. 
But  the  sick  boy  has  none  of  these  organs,  ex 
cept  his  stomach.  Even  the  sober  contempla 
tion  of  death  does  not  greatly  perturb  the  philos 
opher  of  twelve,  for  he  always  looks  upon  his 
own  demise  from  the  pathetic  but  impersonal 
standpoint  of  the  grief-stricken  friends  or  re 
morseful  enemies  of  the  deceased. 
Hi. 

64 


BEING    SICK 

The  season  of  cucumbers  and  unripe  fruit  al 
ways  marked  a  period  of  poor  health  in  John 
nie's  career.  The  rose-tint  of  hardy  youth 
suddenly  faded  from  his  cheeks,  and  he  grew 
pallid  and  "bilious"  and  full  of  pain.  At  such 
times  he  was  inclined  to  become  preternaturally 
kind  and  patient,  enduring  everything  with 
martyr-like  resignation ;  and  death,  having  a 
proverbial  fondness  for  shining  marks,  was 
fully  expected  by  himself  and  feared  by  his 
distressed  mother. 

As  he  lay  quietly  in  bed  reflecting  upon  such 
grave  matters,  his  imagination  was  wont  to  grow 
active  and  tender,  and  hot  tears  often  scalded 
his  cheeks  as  he  thought  of  the  terrible  void  his 
untimely  taking  off  would  make  in  the  world. 
His  disconsolate  parents,  his  heart-broken  play 
mates,  the  sad  and  remorseful  Cousin  Henry — 
who  thrashed  him  only  last  week — ah,  if  he  had 
only  known! — all  these  rose  up  and  gathered 
around  his  bed  to  mourn  until  his  own  soft  heart 
was  touched  and  he  mingled  his  tears  with  theirs. 
In  pity  for  their  distress  he  freely  forgave  them 
for  every  injury  they  had  heaped  upon  him, 
and,  in  short,  conjured  up  for  himself  a  death- 
65 


JOHNNIE 

bed  scene  as  beautiful  and  heartrending  as  any 
ever  figured  in  by  Eva  or  Little  Nell. 

"Mother,"  he  moaned  feebly — he  always  said 
"ma"  when  well — "mother,  won't  you  please 
send  for  Cousin  Henry?" 

An  hour  later  when  that  worthy  appeared  he 
whispered : 

"Henry,  I  am  going  to  give  you  my  red-and- 
blue  lead-pencil." 

"Bully  for  you !"  cried  Henry,  snatching  up 
the  prize.  "Say,  I'm  going  to  take  this  apple, 
too.  The  doctor  says  you  can't  eat  it,"  and 
Henry  rushed  off  whistling  merrily. 

This  act  of  heartlessness  somewhat  marred 
the  pleasantness  of  dying;  in  fact  it  caused 
Johnnie  to  postpone  death  for  the  time  and  to 
demand  the  return  of  the  pencil ;  but  there  was 
many  another  solace  remaining. 

What  country  boy  has  not  enjoyed  the  untold 
comforts  of  the  ague?  Certainly  there  is  none 
who  has  been  immune  in  the  valley  of  the  Wa- 
bash.  The  weary,  aching  bones,  which  ren 
dered  rest  so  delicious,  the  fit  of  shaking,  and  the 
burning  fever,  so  sure  to  bring  sympathy  and 
all  sorts  of  dainty  food — sweet  and  tender  is  the 
66 


BEING    SICK 

memory,    and    the    only    bitter    recollection    it 
awakens  is  that  of  quinine. 

Sometimes  malaria  attacks  a  boy  during  a 
season  of  holiday — but  not  often.  Usually  its 
onset  is  identical  with  the  beginning  of  harvest. 
Johnnie  was  stricken  while  helping  shock  wheat, 
and  the  Hired  Hand  had  to  lead  him  to  the 
house.  There  his  mother  tucked  him  into  the 
ever-cool  bed  in  the  spare  room  and  set  Cousin 
Elmira  to  keeping  the  flies  off  of  him.  Then 
what  luxury  of  earthly  bliss  could  equal  his ! 
He  closed  his  eyes  softly,  dreamily,  in  a  tran 
quillity  of  satisfaction.  Through  the  open  win 
dow  came  the  far  off  hum  of  the  reaper ;  but  its 
drowsy  tones,  which  had  seemed  to  mock  him 
as  he  toiled  a  little  while  ago,  were  soothing  as 
a  lullaby  now,  and  mingled  with  the  song  of 
the  wind  in  the  maples,  the  lazy  buzzing  of  flies, 
and  the  clink  of  dishes  in  the  kitchen.  He  kept 
his  bed  resolutely  until  toward  evening.  Then 
he  crept  out  to  look  upon  the  world  again.  It 
was  all  very  beautiful  and  peaceful,  with  just  a 
tinge  of  twilight  sadness.  Poor  little  invalid! 
How  he  longed  to  run  and  play  again  as  he  used 
to  do — but  the  chores  were  not  yet  done. 
67 


JOHNNIE 

ut  perhaps  the  most  satisfactory  state  of  ill 
ness  to  Johnnie  was  that  which,  while  rendering 
him  totally  unable  to  work,  did  not  incapacitate 
him  from  the  milder  forms  of  amusement,  or 
make  such  indulgence  inconsistent.  For  this 
purpose  nothing  served  better  than  a  badly 
bruised  toe,  or  a  boil  on  the  knee.  Even  a  frac 
tured  limb  he  would  have  welcomed  as  not  with 
out  compensation.  Under  such  affliction  he  was 
justified  in  returning  to  his  old  Noah's  ark  and 
paper  soldiers,  toys  which  Cousin  Henry's  scorn 
had  caused  him  to  forsake  long  ago.  A  cripple 
had  a  right  to  be  babyish.  He  was  also  permit 
ted  to  whittle  in  the  house,  and  make  all  manner 
of  musses. 

Moreover,  there  were  certain  rare  books, 
sealed  to  him  in  health,  to  which  his  indispo 
sition  gave  him  free  access.  The  wonder 
ful  photograph  album,  with  the  pictures  of 
grandpa  and  grandma,  and  brave  Uncle  An 
drew,  who  was  a  sutler  in  the  army,  and  pa  and 
ma  when  they  were  first  married  and  had  dia 
monds  and  dimples — the  former  at  least,  sup 
plied  by  the  accommodating  artist — what  a 
feast  of  beauty  and  marvels  it  was!  The  pon- 
68 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


BEING    SICK 

derous  family  Bible  was  fully  as  great  an  at 
traction.  It  was  worth  a  good  deal  of  physical 
suffering  to  be  permitted  to  pore  over  its  ancient 
pages  and  gaze  on  the  graphic  representa 
tions  of  Goliath  in  the  act  of  being  slain,  of 
Samson  pulling  down  the  temple,  of  John  the 
Baptist's  gory  head  on  a  platter,  and  the 
myriads  of  angels  with  little  wings  on  their 
backs.  And  he  loved,  too,  to  study  the  pictures 
of  the  twelve  apostles — or  the  twelve  epistles — 
he  could  never  quite  remember  which  it  was. 

When  these  books  grew  exhausted  there  were 
the  three  thick  volumes  of  Agricultural  Reports, 
which  a  generous  member  of  Congress  had  pre 
sented  to  his  father.  They  were  replete  with 
familiar  illustrations,  and  strange  words  that 
pleased  Johnnie  while  they  puzzled  him.  It  was 
a  wonderful  thing  to  discover  that  the  caterpil 
lar,  which  he  had  known  all  his  life,  was  really 
the  larva  of  a  lepidopterous  insect;  that  corn 
was  maize;  and  that  cattle  died  of  rinderpest. 
In  one  of  the  books  was  an  ornithological  table 
containing  the  proper  names  of  birds,  which  was 
vastly  entertaining  and  very  instructive  to  aspir 
ing  agriculturists.  He  found  that  the  sparrow 
69 


JOHNNIE 

belonged  to  the  fringillidse  family;  that  it  was 
gramnivorous  and  also  insectivorous,  therefore  a 
friend  to  the  farmer;  that  the  talpa,  or  mole, 
was  a  genus  of  quadrupeds,  living  chiefly  under 
ground  and  feeding  upon  insects ;  and  that  silos 
were  good  for  ensilage.  Nowhere  else,  and  un 
der  no  other  conditions,  could  Johnnie  have  ac 
quired  the  miscellany  of  information  thus  af 
forded.  Truly  he  felt  that  his  affliction  was  a 
blessing  in  thin  disguise. 

In  fact,  to  Johnnie,  the  only  really  unpleas 
ant  thing  about  being  sick  was  the  getting  well. 
There  came  a  time  when  scarcely  a  shadow  of 
the  disease  remained,  when  even  the  scrupulous 
old  doctor  pronounced  him  strong  and  well,  and 
the  manifold  burdens  of  life  had  to  be  assumed 
again.  The  chores  to  which  he  had  become  a 
stranger  began  to  beckon  him  to  the  barn,  and 
long  neglected  errands  ran  to  meet  him.  Yet 
there  was  compensation  even  for  his  convales 
cence.  Every  denizen  of  the  barnyard,  except 
ing  the  pigs,  seemed  glad  of  his  return.  Pluto 
welcomed  him  with  heartiness  more  than  human, 
and  the  Hired  Hand  flattered  him  with  kindness 
and  solicitude. 

70 


BEING    SICK 

Aunt  Mary  came  over  and  made  him  feel  es 
pecially  delicate  and  spirituellc  by  her  anxiety. 

"Why,  lawsy  me,  Johnnie,"  she  exclaimed, 
"I  wouldn't  a'  known  you !  You  look  so  peeked 
and  thin.  Sister,  you  must  be  careful  of  that 
boy,  or  you'll  never  raise  him.  Has  he  got  his 
flannel  on?  Did  you  ever  give  him  burdock  tea 
and  dandelion?  and  you  surely  aren't  lettin'  him 
go  barefooted,  are  you?" 

Such  was  the  psychical  effect  of  her  voluble 
comments  that  Johnnie  crept  off  to  bed  again 
and  came  very  near  having  another  chill.  But 
a  single  dose  of  the  prescribed  burdock  com 
pound  caused  him  to  rally  quickly. 

Johnnie's  gustatory  nerves  were  developed 
far  in  excess  of  his  sympathetic  system. 


IX 


A    SUMMER    SUNDAY 

To  JOHNNIE  Sunday  was  a  day  of  mingled 
joy  and  regret,  of  general  piety  and  individual 
wickedness,  whose  pleasures  were  subdued,  often 
surreptitious,  and  whose  duties  were  stiff  and 
irksome,  yet,  when  faithfully  performed, 
brought  something  of  balm  to  the  conscience. 

It  was  but  partially  a  season  of  rest.  True, 
regular  farm  work  was  strictly  foregone,  but 
the  chores,  the  burden  of  which  fell  largely  on 
his  small  shoulders,  could  not  be  neglected. 
He  had  to  rise  just  as  early  and  trudge  just  as 
far  across  the  pasture  in  search  of  the  cows  as 
on  week  days.  Moreover,  the  sacredness  of  the 
day,  as  interpreted  by  his  pious  parents,  for 
bade  his  indulgence  in  levitous  whistling  and 
loud  calling,  such  as  lightened  the  labors  at 
other  times.  Secular  songs  were  iniquitous  and 
not  to  be  thought  of;  and,  in  order  to  refrain 
from  downright  sin,  on  particularly  bright  Sun- 


A    SUMMER    SUNDAY 


day  mornings,  he  was  sometimes  compelled  to 
compromise  with  the  spirit  of  the  day  and  his 
own  exuberance  by  humming  the  tune  of  Yan 
kee  Doodle  while  mentally  inserting  the  words 
of  the  doxology. 

Johnnie  was  incensed  by  the  unusual  abandon 
with  which  the  birds  sang  on  Sunday,  and,  while 
morally  shocked  at  their  sinfulness,  secretly 
envied  them  their  liberty.  It  was  not  wrong,  he 
thought,  to  throw  stones  at  them  under  such  a 
double  provocation.  But  he  did  not  dare  go 
far  out  of  his  way  in  their  pursuit,  for  he  could 
never  dismiss  from  mind  a  tragic  Sabbath- 
school-paper  tale  of  a  little  boy  who  once  fol 
lowed  a  strange  bird  into  a  dark  forest  with 
uncanny  and  distressing  results.  It  was  a  very 
peculiar  bird,  with  a  good  deal  of  crimson  in  its 
plumage,  and  it  led  the  thoughtless  boy  on  and 
on  until  he  found  himself  alone  in  the  darkness 
with  a  terrible  thunder-storm  raging.  Then 
he  caught  the  bird,  and — horror  of  horrors ! 
Across  its  flaming  breast  in  letters  of  black  was 
written  the  word  "Sin."  The  storm  and  the 
darkness  were  frightful  enough,  but  the  super 
natural  inscription  the  bird  bore  was  absolutely 
73 


JOHNNIE 

blood-curdling.  This  story  impressed  its  ob 
vious  lesson  upon  Johnnie,  to  beware  of  strange 
birds,  especially  red  ones. 

After  chores  and  breakfast  were  done,  hasty 
preparations  were  made  for  Sunday-school. 
Johnnie's  Sunday  clothes  were  brought  forth, 
and  his  bare  and  brier-scarred  feet  bathed  and 
shackled  in  shoes.  Ah!  unhappy  necessity  of 
encasing  this  summer's  feet  in  last  winter's 
shoes ;  it  was  like  imprisoning  a  rosebud  in  a 
block  of  ice.  When  Johnnie  donned  his  Sun 
day  suit  he  put  off  the  happy  good  humor  in 
which  nature  had  swathed  him,  and  became  as 
degenerate  as  Adam  after  the  adoption  of  fig- 
leaf  apparel.  In  his  old  clothes  his  peccadillos 
were  apt  to  be  of  a  thoughtless  and  harmless 
character,  but  when  he  was  dressed  up  he  was 
inclined  to  deliberate  transgression.  On  the 
way  to  Sunday-school  he  dangled  his  feet  over 
the  end-gate  of  the  spring  wagon  and  made 
monstrous  faces  at  the  boy  behind.  When  the 
class-room  was  reached  he  wriggled  and  winked 
and  pinched  his  mates  and  chewed  sassafras 
root,  making  believe  it  was  tobacco — in  short, 
indulged  in  manifold  forms  of  original  sin.  In 
74 


A    SUMMER    SUNDAY 

this  way  Johnnie  gained  the  reputation  of  be 
ing  a  very  bad  boy,  when  really  it  was  his  stiff, 
ill-fitting  clothing  that  was  bad, 

Johnnie    always    remained    for    church,    be 
cause  he  had  to,  and  there  the  diversive  alter 
native  of  mischief  failed  him,  and  he  was  com 
pelled  to  be  content  with  empty  sleep  or  vain 
speculation.     But  even  there  his  elastic  imagi 
nation  was  an  untold  comfort,  and  the  curious 
ideas  and  vaporous  views  of  things  which  wan 
dered  through  his   mind  as  the  minister   crept 
from   "firstly"    down   to  "lastly"   and   "again" 
and  "in   conclusion"  were  wonderful  to  relate. 
He  wondered  why  the  deacon  in  the  pew  in  front 
had  no  hair;  why  his  head  was  so  highly  pol 
ished  ;  how  it  felt  to  be  bald ;  if  he  himself  would 
ever  be  bald;  and  why  little  boys  could  not  be 
bald   without   waiting   till  they   grew   up.     He 
speculated  as  to  how  the  preacher  would  look 
when  he  became  a  corpulent  angel  with  wings; 
and  as  to  whether  angels  soared  like  buzzards, 
or  flopped  their  wings  like  chickens,  or  buzzed 
like  flies.     He  wished  he  had  his  wings  on  now; 
and  he  knew  what  he  would  do  pretty  quick. 
He  would  not   stay  there   very  long.     Would 
75 


}  ^  \O 

}\  8 


JOHNNIE 

not  it  make  a  stir,  though,  if  he  should  suddenly 
mount  to  the  ceiling  with  a  glad  flutter  and  go 
sailing  out  through  the  arched  window  across 
the  fields!  How  high  he  would  soar,  and  to 
what  mighty  distances  he  would  take  his  flight ! 
With  such  absurd  fancies  as  these  Johnnie 
passed  the  tedious  hours.  Little  enough  of  the 
minister's  learned  discourse  penetrated  his  ears, 
and  less  found  its  way  to  his  comprehension. 

When  the  final  prayer  was  spoken,  and  the 
benediction  pronounced,  Johnnie,  in  common 
with  many  of  his  elders,  and,  indeed,  some  of 
the  elders  of  the  church,  breathed  a  sigh  of 
relief. 

Home  and  dinner  lay  before  him ;  and,  al 
though  the  Sunday  meal  was  likely  to  be  frugal, 
its  crystal  water  and  cold  meat  created  a  re 
freshing  oasis  in  the  religious  desert  round 
about  him.  Even  a  temporary  shifting  of  the 
wind  from  a  spiritual  to  a  physical  quarter  was 
comforting  to  Johnnie. 

After  dinner  Johnnie's   shoes  slipped   off  as 

by  magic,  and  then  away  the  truant  feet  went 

scurrying  across  the  meadow  with  a  speed  that 

took  his  breath.     Sunday  afternoon,  with  lazi- 

76 


A    SUMMER    SUNDAY 

ness  loitering  at  his  side  unrebuked,  with  the  air 
full  of  shimmering  dreams,  and  industry  fast 
asleep  for  the  day!  Sunday  afternoon,  with 
bare  feet,  with  straw  hat,  with  the  thinnest  and 
simplest  of  garments,  with  youth,  with  hope, 
with  a  world  so  full  of  sunshine  that  its  warmth 
overflowed  into  the  shadiest  nooks  —  what  rare 
possibilities  for  pleasure  it  possessed! 

Down  where  the  brook  kept  running  night 
and  day  was  the  favorite  trysting-place  of  idle 
ness  and  himself.  It  was  out  of  view  from  the 
house,  and  haunted  by  no  specter  from  the 
world  of  week  days  or  the  purgatory  of  Sun 
day  morning.  He  and  the  dragon-flies  and 
water-spiders  alone  knew  the  secret  of  its  placid 
charms.  It  was  such  a  tiny  stream  that  it  often 
became  so  nearly  lost  in  the  marshes  of  calamus 
that  he  had  to  stoop  to  find  it,  and  he  could  al 
most  stop  its  current  with  his  heel.  Miniature 
water-wheels  were  constructed  along  its  course, 
and  fairy  boats,  which  were  literal  barks,  were 
launched  upon  its  breast. 

For  hours  Johnnie  would  recline  on  the  bank, 

*V"*         r  -.  v 

his  feet  burrowing  deep  in  the  soft  mud,  tossing 

numberless  chips  into  the  brook,  to  gaze  after 

77 


i,:j 


JOHNNIE 

them  and  wonder  vaguely,  dreamily,  whither 
they  would  drift  at  last.  And  even  as  the 
brook  sang  its  one  song  and  dreamed  its  one 
dream  of  the  sea  the  boy's  idle  musings  would 
turn  toward  distant  manhood,  and  he  would 
wonder  and  wonder.  And  the  ultimate  reach 
of  his  boyish  imagination  or  the  final  destiny  of 
the  restless  brook  no  finite  mind  may  determine. 
Sunday  evening  drew  on,  at  length,  with  the 
same  monotonous  round  of  chores  again.  The 
cows  were  to  be  gathered  in  and  milked,  just  as 
if  they  had  never  undergone  the  process  before ; 
and,  as  the  sun  went  down,  seated  on  a  three- 
legged  stool,  his  head  pressed  confidingly 
against  old  Brindlc's  flank,  his  eyes  fixed  in 
thoughtful  reverie  upon  the  western  sky— 
whether  in  contemplation  of  its  beauty,  or  the 
beauty  beyond,  or  of  some  quaint  conception  of 
internal  origin,  we  know  not — Johnnie  bade 
farewell  to  many  a  Sunday. 


m  '8 


*^L 


PERHAPS  the  brightest  anniversary  in  John 
nie's  calendar  was  the  week  in  September  which 
brought  the  county  fair.  Throughout  the  long 
summer  he  looked  forward  to  it  with  ever  in 
creasing  gladness.  There  was  never  any  ques 
tion  as  to  whether  he  should  be  permitted  to  at 
tend  the  fair.  It  was  the  one  great  place  of 
amusement  in  his  world  which  was  eminently 
proper,  where  pleasure  might  be  indulged  in 
unstintedly  without  a  qualm. 

The  fair  ground,  a  spacious  native  grove, 
well  set  in  blue-grass,  was  situated  a  mile  from 
the  corporate  limits  of  the  town.  For  eleven 
months  out  of  each  year  it  was  a  deserted  vil 
lage.  Birds  nested  in  its  trees,  squirrels  and 
chipmunks  gamboled  in  the  huge  horticultural 
hall,  and  spiders  worked  geometrical  problems 
in  amphitheater  and  bandstand.  Its  utter 
emptiness  and  desolation  tended  to  oppress 

TO  .  »(    , 


JOHNNIE 

Johnnie  when  he  passed  it  on  occasional  pil 
grimages  to  the  county  seat.  A  painful  air  of 
the  vanished  glory  of  Vanity  Fair  seemed  to 
hover  about  it. 

But  annually  with  the  advent  of  autumn  an 
army  of  rustics  invaded  its  precincts;  and  for 
the  space  of  one  week  it  became  a  teeming  city 
in  miniature.  In  a  general  way  this  sudden 
transformation  was  wonderful,  while  its  special 
features  were  simply  miraculous. 

On  the  morning  of  the  first  day  of  the  fair 
the  Winkle  household  arose  bright  and  early. 
Johnnie  awoke  from  ecstatic  dreams  with  a 
thrill,  bounced  out  of  bed  and  into  his  clothes 
with  supernatural  agility,  and  had  the  horses 
up  from  the  pasture  in  short  order.  There  was 
but  one  matter  of  solicitude  to  mar  his  joy. 
The  weather — which  takes  the  place  of  fate  on 
a  farm — might  prove  unfavorable.  Perhaps 
an  inauspicious  streak  of  scarlet  vapor  lay 
across  the  face  of  the  sun,  or  a  dim,  slaty  mass 
of  clouds  hung  on  the  western  horizon,  which 
might  easily  bring  rain;  and  Johnnie  waited 
upon  the  Hired  Hand  in  a  fever  of  anxiety  to 
learn  his  prediction. 

80 


THE    COUNTY    FAIR 

"You  don't  think  it'll  rain  to-day,  do  you, 
Eph?"  he  asked  with  an  assumption  of  confi 
dence.  Then  Eph,  the  astrologer,  went  forth 
and  scanned  the  heavens,  noted  the  direction  of 
the  wind,  and  observed  the  behavior  of  the  stock 
and  various  meteorological  phenomena. 

"It  all  de-pends  on  the  way  the  moon  hung 
last  night,"  he  remarked  gravely,  "which  I 
didn't  notice.  The  signs  is  mostly  favorable" — 
Johnnie's  countenance  brightened — "fer  rain, 
but  I  ain't  shore." 

As  the  sun  mounted  higher,  however,  the 
clouds  disappeared,  and  at  eight  o'clock  the 
family  was  safely  en  route.  What  a  glamour 
lay  over  the  world  that  morning!  How  gaily, 
how  madly  the  kaleidoscopic  landscape  circled 
on  countless  pivots  as  the  wagon  rumbled  on ! 
Backward  the  fences  and  trees  of  the  fore 
ground  slipped,  smoothly,  silently,  while  those 
in  the  distance  rushed  ever  forward,  until  John 
nie  almost  convinced  himself  that  he  was  really 
standing  still  between  two  mammoth  revolving 
planes  of  scenery. 

Once  they  passed  a  field  where  a  boy  of  his 
own  size  was  laboriously  cutting  weeds,  and  the 
81 


JOHNNIE 

sight  made  Johnnie  ill.  He  wondered  how  any 
mortal  could  work  in  that  lonely,  hot  field  and 
the  fair  going  on!  That  boy's  parents  were 
certainly  brutes. 

After  a  while  they  found  themselves  in  the 
midst  of  a  long  procession  of  wagons  and  car 
riages,  and  Johnnie  could  scarcely  contain  him 
self  because  they  moved  so  slowly.  A  mile 
ahead  the  fair  ground  loomed  into  sight,  and 
yet  it  seemed  they  would  never  reach  it.  The 
distant  hum  of  the  crowds,  like  the  buzz  of 
swarming  bees,  broke  on  their  ears,  and  present 
ly  the  beatific  strains  of  the  brass  band. 

At  last  they  were  there.  Johnnie  could 
hardly  realize  it,  but  it  was  true.  The  tickets 
were  handed  over,  the  gates  were  entered,  and 
the  suppressed  hum  of  happy  humanity  burst 
into  a  mighty  chorus.  Johnnie  stood  up  in  the 
wagon  and  tried  to  take  it  all  in.  Rows  of  can 
vas  tents,  big  and  little,  flaming  pictures,  candy 
stands,  striking-machines,  shooting-galleries, 
museums,  minstrels,  magicians,  and  people — 
people  everywhere ! 

"Now,  Johnnie,  you  stay  right  here  in  this 


THE    COUNTY    FAIR 

wagon  till  pa  puts  the  horses  away,"  Mrs.  Win 
kle  admonished  him,  turning  round. 

But  Johnnie  heard  her  not.  His  attention 
was  fixed  upon  a  beautiful  flaxen-haired  girl, 
who  was  entwining  a  monstrous  snake  about  her 
neck.  Slipping  down  he  ran  in  her  direction  to 
get  a  nearer  view.  Immediately  he  was  swal 
lowed  in  the  multitude,  becoming  one  of  its 
molecular  elements  to  vibrate  hither  and  thither, 
attracted  and  repelled  and  swept  along  in  irre 
sistible  currents  throughout  the  day.  The 
spirit  of  the  occasion  saturated  him ;  in  every 
thing  on  exhibition  he  found  delight.  Climb 
ing  into  the  amphitheater,  he  looked  down  in 
admiration  upon  horses  and  cattle  such  as  he 
saw  daily  at  home.  He  found  wonders  in  the 
way  of  swine  in  the  pigsties,  petting  the  baby- 
pigs  and  calling  them  "cute"  just  as  did  his 
city  cousins.  For  the  live  stock  at  the  fair  was 
not  common  live  stock;  the  sheep  were  aristo 
crats,  the  poultry  was  pure-bred  and  took  pre 
miums,  even  the  pumpkins  on  exhibition  were 
unusual,  appearances  to  the  contrary  notwith 
standing.  Just  as  work  may  be  lightened  by 


JOHNNIE 

calling  it  play,  a  cow  may  be  completely  trans 
figured  and  glorified  by  exhibiting  her  at  the 
fair. 

Yet  the  more  mysterious  exhibition  going  on 
within  the  big  tent  over  near  the  fence  was  by 
far  the  greatest  attraction,  and  every  path 
Johnnie  tried  finally  led  him  to  its  door.  A 
large,  many-colored  banner  stretched  in  front 
illustrated  a  few  of  the  numerous  wonders  to  be 
seen  on  the  inside,  and  every  now  and  then  a 
mechanically  talking  man  would  come  out  and 
explain  the  pictures.  The  Snake-charmer,  the 
Prestidigitator,  the  Woman  with  the  Iron  Jaw 
and  the  Wild  Man  from  Madagascar  were  all 
there — all  to  be  seen  for  the  paltry  sum  of  ten 
cents.  The  price  was  certainly  ridiculously 
low.  At  the  entrance  sat  a  little  boy,  no  bigger 
than  Johnnie,  who  turned  a  hand  organ,  pro 
ducing  an  endless  strain  of  sweet  music.  As 
Johnnie  stood  and  stared,  his  breast  heaved  with 
envy  of  that  boy.  Doubtless  it  was  his  pa  who 
owned  the  whole  show,  and  he  could  behold  its 
marvels  whenever  he  liked.  Johnnie  wished  his 
father  would  turn  showman  and  let  him  grind 


84 


THE    COUNTY    FAIR 

the  organ.  Anyhow  he  was  determined  to  see 
the  inside  of  the  show  before  he  went  home. 

Eph  stepped  up  behind  him. 

"See  here,  sonny,"  he  cried  threateningly, 
"what  you  mean,  standin'  roun'  here,  an'  every 
body  waitin'  dinner  on  ye,  and'  yore  ma  putty 
nigh  dis-tracted !"  When,  a  few  moments  later, 
Johnnie  and  Eph  came  upon  the  family, 
grouped  about  an  immense  expanse  of  snowy 
table-linen  on  the  grass,  what  a  feast  of  all  that 
is  delicious  greeted  their  eyes ! 

Aunt  Mary's  folks  had  "joined  teams"  with 
the  Winkles,  and  the  tender  chicken,  rich  cake, 
and  pies,  and  jams,  and  jellies,  and  luscious 
fruit  they  brought  from  their  baskets  were  as 
tonishing  to  look  upon.  If  the  fair  needed  a 
complement  to  render  its  pleasures  ideally  per 
fect,  it  was  found  in  this  picnic  dinner.  The 
men  and  boys  lolled  on  the  grass  and  reached 
luxuriously  for  bread  and  chicken,  while  Mrs. 
Winkle  and  Aunt  Mary  fluttered  about  like  min 
istering  angels,  vying  with  each  other  in  an 
ticipation  of  every  want. 

"Have  some  of  this  gooseberry  jelly,  John- 


85 


JOHNNIE 

nie,"  Aunt  Mary  would  say,  while  Mrs.  Winkle 
was  piling  a  mountain  of  pastry  under  Cousin 
Henry's  nose;  or,  "Eph,  help  yourself  to  the 
pound-cake — though  goodness  knows  it's  the 
poorest  I  ever  baked." 

Then  the  two  good  housewives  would  get  to 
gether  and  volubly  deplore  how  the  butter  had 
not  "gathered"  properly,  how  the  bread  had 
refused  to  rise,  and  how  the  jam  had  shown 
signs  of  working.  In  the  meantime  the  men 
continued  to  eat  heartily  and  promptly  to  extol 
everything  they  tasted.  It  was  etiquette  for 
the  women  to  deprecate  and  the  men  to  praise 
each  article  of  food  produced. 

The  meal  was  finished  at  last,  and,  in  spite 
of  gastric  heaviness  and  conscientious  scruples, 
Johnnie  made  bold  to  ask  his  father  for  a  dime ; 
and  so  overflowing  was  Mr.  Winkle's  good  hu 
mor  that  he  responded  with  a  whole  quarter. 

The  show  was  soon  visited,  and  an  extra 
nickel  was  invested  in  a  glass  of  red  lemonade, 
which  looked  beautiful,  and  which  Johnnie  tried 
to  imagine  tasted  correspondingly. 

Objects  of  absorbing  interest  were  simply  in 
numerable  and  inexhaustible  at  the  fair.  Here 
86 


THE    COUNTY    FAIR 

was  a  man  handling  writhing  coils  of  hot  taffy 
as  fearlessly  as  the  girl  handled  snakes ;  there 
was  a  wealth  of  golden  jewelry  being  given 
away  in  prize-boxes ;  beyond  stood  a  huckster 
selling  handkerchiefs,  pencils,  and  note  paper, 
an  armful  for  a  dime. 

Toward  evening  Johnnie  purchased  a  sack 
of  peanuts  and,  leaning  wearily  against  a  tree, 
spent  a  satisfying  half-hour  just  watching  the 
surging  masses  of  people.  To  one  whose  en 
tire  life  has  been  spent  amid  the  pastoral  quiet 
of  the  country,  there  is  a  peculiar  and  exciting 
pleasure  in  seeing  crowds.  The  great  bustling 
world  of  men  and  women  was  to  Johnnie  largely 
a  land  of  dreams.  As  his  mind  had  developed 
he  had  come  to  brood  more  and  more  upon  its 
vastness,  but  he  found  the  reality  of  it  all  hard 
to  grasp.  He  dreamed  of  the  sea  and  saw  it 
mirrored  in  the  mill-pond.  Brooks  answered 
for  rivers,  and  the  merest  hills  for  mountains. 
But  at  the  fair  only  could  he  get  an  adequate 
glimpse  of  the  world's  inhabitants  collectively, 
as  they  were.  Above  and  beyond  all  this,  as  he 
gazed  and  pondered,  he  was  conscious  of  a  thrill 
of  the  intoxicating  charm  of  life  and  motion, 
87 


JOHNNIE 

and  felt  for  the  first  time  the  tugging  of  that 
strange,  magnetic  power  of  human  gravity, 
which  yearly  draws  so  many  farmer  boys  to 
town.  These  potent  influences  held  him  trans 
fixed,  gaping  at  the  multitude  until  it  was  al 
most  dark;  and  when  Eph  found  him  at  last, 
he  followed  that  worthy  monitor  to  the  wagon 
absently,  and  rode  home  in  a  deep  dream.  And 
the  burden  of  his  nebulous  meditations,  crystal 
lized  into  words,  would  have  run  thus:  "When 
I  become  a  man  I  shall  never  be  content  to  vege 
tate  on  the  little  farm,  like  a  weed  in  a  fence- 
corner,  I  will  become  a  man  of  the  world!" 


88 


•S     .*       WJjij^ftyfc-f- 

}3ti&j$&x+\ja&tt. 


XI 


IN    WINTER 


To  OLD  age,  the  wings  of  time  seem  ruthlessly 
swift.  Every  changing  season  brings  fresh  re 
grets,  and  the  passing  of  summer,  the  waning 
of  the  sun  and  the  fading  of  leaves  is  fraught 
with  a  sadness  akin  to  despair.  It  is  in  the  au 
tumn  that  men  grow  old  and  feeble,  and  death, 
having  thrown  off  all  disguise,  stalks  boldly 
abroad  in  the  land.  Only  in  childhood  time 
plods  and  the  procession  of  the  seasons  moves 
too  slowly. 

Summer  slipped  away  from  Johnnie,  unre- 
gretted.  Ere  it  was  half  over  he  had  begun  to 
long  for  the  delights  of  autumn.  By  him  Sep 
tember  was  greeted  as  gaily  as  April,  and  win 
ter  was  welcomed  with  gladness. 

He  awoke  one  morning  and  straightway  knew 

by    instinct   that   snow   had   fallen   during  the 

night.     A   feeling  was   in   the   air  of  his   well 

ventilated  bedroom  which  betokened  snow,  and 

89 


JOHNNIE 

dressing  in  haste  he  ran  out  to  revel  in  it.  On 
the  eastern  sky  was  a  gleam  of  crimson,  like  the 
glow  in  his  own  cheeks,  and  everywhere,  on 
fence  and  shed-roof,  over  the  fields,  up  and 
down  the  hills,  even  to  the  verge  of  the  distant, 
shadow-cloistered  forest,  lay  the  glittering 
waste  of  snow,  pure,  untrodden.  Yet,  to  be  ac 
curate,  there  were  a  few  faint  tracks  upon  it 
already,  and  Johnnie's  eyes  were  quick  to  ob 
serve  them.  Along  the  garden  fence  ran  a 
curious  little  trail,  consisting  of  tiny  dots  on 
each  side  of  a  tortuous  but  continuous  line,  all 
disappearing  suddenly  under  a  rail;  and  he 
knew  a  field-mouse  had  been  there.  Not  far 
away  were  a  few  dainty  triangular  imprints 
where  a  snowbird  had  alighted.  Out  in  the 
barnlot  was  found  a  labyrinth  of  furrows,  cross 
ing  and  recrossing  one  another  in  all  sorts  of 
fantastic  figures,  where  the  cows  had  ambled 
about.  One  of  these  Johnnie  proceeded  to  fol 
low  briskly  here  and  there  until  it  brought  him 
up  to  old  Brindle,  shivering  with  snow-incrusted 
back,  by  the  fence,  where  he  had  pretended  not 
to  see  her  before.  The  horses,  the  pigs  and  the 
sheep  had  all  left  separate  and  characteristic 
90 


IN    WINTER 

trails  in  the  snow,  and  each  was  familiar  to 
Johnnie.  It  was  over  in  the  orchard,  though, 
that  he  discovered  the  most  alluring  tracks. 
They  consisted  of  two  oblong  impressions  side 
by  side,  with  a  single  larger  one  between  and 
slightly  behind  them,  as  though  made  by  some 
strange,  three-legged  creature.  These  groups 
of  imprints  were  five  or  six  feet  apart,  and  ex 
tended  in  a  semi-circle  across  the  orchard  lot. 
Johnnie  studied  them  with  the  sagacious  air  of 
a  born  huntsman;  and  not  only  was  he  able  to 
determine  that  they  had  been  made  by  a  rabbit, 
but  also  in  which  direction  and  with  what  speed 
it  had  been  traveling.  He  had  learned  how  a 
rabbit  in  running  puts  its  fore  feet  down  close 
together,  so  that  they  make  but  one  mark. 

As  soon  as  breakfast  was  over  he  armed  him 
self  and  took  the  trail.  In  his  haste,  he  forgot 
his  mittens,  but  his  steaming  breath  had  abun 
dant  power  to  warm  his  hands. 

The  weapon  he  carried  was  not  dangerous. 
It  was  just  a  rusty  old  ax.  Across  the  meadow, 
down  the  hollow,  into  the  silent  heart  of  the 
woods  he  trudged,  unmindful  of  time  or  dis 
tance.  Sometimes  the  tracks  led  him  among 

91 


JOHNNIE 

brambles  and  dense  underbrush,  and  now  and 
then  the  wind  shook  a  crackling  shower  of  icicles 
down  upon  him,  but  he  pushed  on  undaunted. 
Once  as  he  waded  through  a  drift,  the  snow 
sifted  into  the  gaping  tops  of  his  boots;  but, 
seating  himself  on  a  frigid  stump,  he  de 
liberately  pulled  them  off  and  emptied  them. 
The  frost  nipped  at  his  ears  in  vain.  He  was 
proof  against  cold.  Boys  have  been  sent  on 
errands  and  have  been  found  frozen  to  death; 
they  have  started  off  to  school  and  met  with  the 
same  fate;  but  no  boy  was  ever  known  to  suffer 
in  the  least  from  the  cold  when  hunting  rabbits ! 
After  a  long  but  exciting  tramp  Johnnie 
came  to  a  point  where  the  trail  doubled  on 
itself,  and  this  was  a  sign  that  the  game  was 
not  far  away.  Sure  enough,  the  tracks  pres 
ently  terminated  abruptly  in  a  hollow  log,  and 
the  rabbit  was  successfully  treed.  Then  began 
a  series  of  scientific  manceuvers  looking  to  its 
capture.  A  rabbit  at  the  end  of  an  oaken  tun 
nel,  ten  feet  in  length  and  six  inches  in  diame 
ter,  is  seemingly  fortified  against  a  boy.  But 
Johnnie  was  artful.  Selecting  a  long  hazel 
pole,  he  carefully  sharpened  two  prongs  upon 
92 


IN    WINTER 

the  smaller  end.  With  this  instrument  the  ani 
mal  was  readily  located.  And  now  a  very  cruel 
process  was  resorted  to — one  painful  to  de 
scribe.  Yet  from  Johnnie's  standpoint  "twist 
ing"  a  rabbit  was  as  much  a  matter  of  course 
as  is  opening  an  oyster  to  a  longshoreman. 
The  forked  stick  was  entangled  in  the  rabbit's 
fur  and  given  a  rotary  motion.  Then  a  swift 
and  forceful  withdrawal  caused  a  plaintive 
squeal,  and  brought  forth  a  little  fur,  with  some 
cuticle  clinging  to  it.  This  operation  was  re 
peated  again ;  but  bunny  persistently  refused  to 
be  dislodged,  and  it  became  evident  that  other 
measures  would  be  required.  So  Johnnie  ex 
ecuted  a  final  coup  d'etat.  Plugging  up  the 
open  end  of  the  log,  he  grasped  the  ax  and  be 
gan  chopping  a  hole  directly  over  bunny's  po 
sition.  It  was  a  laborious  undertaking,  but  after 
a  half-hour's  work,  the  denuded  and  dying  rab 
bit  was  secured.  True,  from  a  culinary  point  of 
view  it  was  worthless,  for  the  dirt  and  hair  ad 
hering  to  its  skinless  flesh  could  never  be  suc 
cessfully  removed ;  but  this  circumstance  did  not 
detract  from  Johnnie's  exultation.  Slinging  it 
over  his  shoulder  by  way  of  magnifying  its 

QQ 

M 


JOHNNIE 

weight  and  lending  dignity  to  the  affair,  he 
proceeded  manfully  on  the  homeward  march. 

The  way  home  was  very  long — much  longer, 
apparently,  than  the  tortuous  trail  which  had 
led  him  hither,  and  more  hilly.  The  ax  also 
seemed  to  gain  materially  in  weight,  and  was  ex 
tremely  burdensome.  When,  after  reaching 
home,  his  mother  sent  him  out  to  chop  some  stove 
wood  he  could  hardly  wield  the  implement  at  all. 
It  took  him  half  an  hour  to  cut  six  small  sticks, 
and  at  the  end  of  that  time  he  was  almost  frozen. 
He  was  convinced  that  such  exposure  to  wintry 
weather  was  injurious,  and  was  not  surprised  to 
discover  that  his  throat  was  sore  next  morning. 

Tracking  rabbits  was  but  one  of  many  de 
lights  which  winter  rendered  possible.  Coast 
ing,  skating,  and  the  building  of  snow  men  re 
ceived  due  attention  from  Johnnie;  but  the  ab 
sence  of  proper  playmates  made  such  sports  a 
trifle  monotonous  at  times.  Snow-balling  his 
two  unfailing  companions,  Pluto  and  Eph,  was 
not  satisfactory.  The  latter  responded  too 
vigorously,  the  former  not  at  all. 

In  winter  there  was  a  notable  unpleasantness 
connected  with  doing  the  chores.  Johnny  could 
94 


IN    WINTER 

never  understand  how  the  cows  managed  to  sur 
vive  the  winter.  Certainly  their  chafed  udders 
were  the  '  coldest,  clammiest  things  with  which 
he  ever  came  in  contact.  He  could  not  milk  in 
mittens,  and  as  he  coaxed  forth  the  life-giving 
fluid  with  blue,  bare  fingers  he  often  wondered 
why  it  did  not  appear  as  ice-cream. 

Another  decidedly  rough  task  was  that  of 
hauling  in  fodder.  This  had  to  be  done  daily 
in  cold  weather,  for  the  cattle's  stomachs  were 
insatiable.  A  shock  of  fodder,  which  has  stood 
in  the  wind  and  rain  all  fall,  and  has  been 
crowned  and  crystallized  by  winter's  snow  and 
ice,  resembles  adamant.  To  pull  it  apart  and 
load  it  upon  a  sled  in  arctic  weather  is  a  tedious 
and  trying  operation.  A  succession  of  kicks 
from  heavy  boot-heels  loosens  the  "butts";  then 
a  long  and  a  strong  pull  serves  to  separate  a  few 
stalks;  and  these,  when  laid  on  the  sled,  though 
never  so  carefully,  are  likely  to  be  scattered  far 
and  wide  by  the  next  gust  of  wind. 

But  the  winter  evenings  were  long  and  cheer 
ful,  and  an  afternoon  spent  in  the  bitter  cold 
rendered  the  tropical  warmth  of  the  fireplace 
all  the  more  comforting.  The  fireplace  was  the 
95 


JOHNNIE 

sacred  altar  of  the  Winkle  household,  whose  ves 
tal  fires  were  never  permitted  to  languish. 
After  supper  Mrs.  Winkle  always  took  tongs 
and  shovel  and  prepared  a  ruddy  bed  among 
the  coals  for  the  new  backlog,  which  Eph  bore 
in  puffing  and  rolled  into  place  with  plaintive 
groans.  Then  Mr.  Winkle  brought  the  fore- 
stick,  and  some  dry  clapboards  for  kindling; 
and  after  a  few  minutes  of  sullen  smoldering 
the  flames  leaped  merrily  aloft  with  the  refrain 
of  a  soaring  lark. 

Then  it  was  that  Johnnie,  ensconced  in  his 
own  chair,  with  Pluto  at  his  side,  dreamed  the 
sweetest  dreams  and  formed  the  fondest  ties  of 
all  his  boyhood.  The  conversation  of  the  fam 
ily  group  was  apt  to  be  broken  and  desultory. 
Sometimes  Eph  would  regale  them  with  extend 
ed  extracts  from  his  remarkable  biography,  and 
Johnnie  would  listen  in  wonder  while  his  father 
dozed.  Occasionally  Mr.  Winkle  would  become 
retrospective  and  relate  anecdotes  of  his  own 
youth — when  the  pasture  field  was  a  woodland 
swarming  with  wolves;  until  Mrs.  Winkle  grew 
tenderly  reminiscent,  and  the  two  would  go  back 
over  the  years  hand  in  hand,  with  fond  allusions 
96 


IN    WINTER 

which  Johnnie  but  dimly  understood.  But 
oftener  they  all  sat  in  peaceful  silence,  accentu 
ated  by  the  stea<dy  tick  of  the  clock,  the  creak 
ing  of  his  mother's  rocking-chair,  and  the  clink 
of  her  busy  knitting  needles,  and  these  were  the 
times  which  Johnnie  recalled  long  afterward 
as  the  happiest  of  all.  Few,  perhaps,  are  the 
educational  advantages  of  the  rustic-born;  but 
every  farmer  boy  learns  early,  and  none  ever 
forgets,  the  truest,  most  hallowed  meaning  of 
the  word  home. 


XII 


CHRISTMAS 


THROUGHOUT  the  greater  part  of  the  year 
Johnnie  took  little  note  of  the  almanac.  In  a 
vague  way  he  knew  that  there  were  certain  rules 
between  its  green  covers  which  controlled  the 
movements  of  the  sun  and  moon,  and  he  had 
often  seen  Eph  sagely  consulting  its  pages  when 
forecasting  the  weather.  Moreover  he  was 
somewhat  familiar  with  the  distressful  symboli 
cal  picture  of  the  mutilated  man,  surrounded  by 
twins,  scorpions  and  goats,  which  embellished 
the  first  page ;  but  beyond  this  he  seldom  pene 
trated. 

As  winter  drew  on,  however,  the  book  an 
nually  acquired  a  new  interest  for  him,  and 
from  Thanksgiving  Day  to  Christmas  he  was 
given  to  studying  its  calendar  continually.  In 
fact,  the  first  exhaustive  use  he  ever  made  of  his 
limited  knowledge  of  mathematics  was  in  mak 
ing  repeated  calculations  as  to  just  how  many 
98 


CHRISTMAS 

days  remained  until  Christmas,  the  number  of 
which  he  would  carefully  chalk  down  on  the 
casing  of  the  mantel  over  the  fireplace,  as  if  he 
were  in  danger  of  forgetting  it.  Johnnie  was  a 
true  and  faithful  believer  in  Christmas,  and 
reveled  in  its  joyous  anticipations.  For  many 
weeks  he  dreamed  of  its  wonders  night  and  day. 
He  had  already  grown  too  old  to  believe  the 
legend  of  Santa  Claus  any  more,  and  his  scrupu 
lous  parents  had  taken  pains  to  undeceive  him 
as  to  that  time-honored  myth.  But  really  he 
would  have  been  very  loath  to  believe  them. 
Upon  this  point,  it  is  so  much  easier  to  retain 
confidence  in  the  idol-builder  than  in  the  icono 
clast,  had  not  his  own  sharp  eyes  taught  him  the 
stern  truth  of  their  assertion. 

One  memorable  Christmas  Eve  he  had  acci 
dentally  awakened  at  the  critical  hour,  and  had 
discovered,  with  less  than  half  an  eye,  that  it 
was  his  mother  who  was  heaping  things  into  his 
gaping  stockings.  And  so  he  no  longer  be 
lieved  in  good  old  St.  Nicholas,  and  yet,  down 
in  his  boyish  heart,  he  could  not  quite  become 
disillusioned.  It  is  so  difficult  to  unlearn  the 
delightful  delusions  of  childhood  that  it  can 
99 


JOHNNIE 

only  be  completely  accomplished  with  the  help 
of  dull,  disenchanting  years. 

In  the  light  of  day  Johnnie  was  practically 
sure  that  no  Santa  Claus  existed,  but  at  night, 
after  he  had  said  his  prayer  and  crept  into  bed, 
his  fancy  grew  active,  and  he  was  inclined  to  re 
consider  the  matter.  Perhaps  after  all  the  old 

,    9  r 

tale  was  true ;  perhaps  his  parents  had  only  been 
making  believe  that  it  was  false.  When  he  was 
such  a  little  boy  that  he  wore  dresses,  he  remem 
bered,  his  mother  would  take  him  on  her  lap  and 
tell  him  the  story  of  the  children's  saint.  Then 
she  would  relate  that  other  wondrous  tale  of 
the  Christ-child  born  in  a  manger.  This  story 
still  held  true,  and  why  not  the  other?  Across 
his  dreams  came  the  tinkle  of  sleighbells  and 
the  tread  of  reindeer  hoofs  once  more,  and  over 
his  sleeping  face  hovered  the  childish  smile  of 
infinite  trust  and  faith. 

Christmas  Eve,  when  at  last  it  really  came, 
was  a  time  of  glorious  hopes  and  possibilities. 
The  chores  were  done  with  a  will  that  night. 
The  horses  and  cattle  received  double  their  ac 
customed  feed,  and  the  wood-box  behind  the 
kitchen  stove  was  piled  mountain  high  with 
100 


CHRISTMAS 

1 

wood.  It  was  a  time  of  general  good  cheer; 
moreover  Santa  Claus,  or  some  of  his  minions, 
might  be  lurking  near,  and  it  was  policy  to  let 
one's  virtues  shine.  After  supper  a  round  of 
merriment  was  indulged  in  by  the  entire  house 
hold,  ending  in  a  royal  game  of  blind  man's 
buff.  Then  came  the  happy  ceremony  of  hang 
ing  up  the  stockings,  and  after  that,  the  tedious, 
almost  impossible  endeavor  to  get  to  sleep. 

"Now  go  right  to  sleep,  and  Christmas  will 
be  here  before  you  can  wink,"  Mrs.  Winkle 
would  say  encouragingly.  So  Johnnie  would 
close  his  eyes  and  begin  to  snore  as  soon  as  he 
touched  the  bed.  But  Morpheus  was  not  to  be 
won  by  shamming.  Presently  the  eyes  popped 
open,  and  the  snores  ended  in  wakeful  sighs. 
Then  every  known  expedient  was  tried  by  turns. 
Johnnie  endeavored  to  imagine  that  it  was  not 
Christmas  Eve  at  all,  but  the  day  after  Christ 
mas,  or  the  night  of  the  Fourth  of  July,  and 
that  there  was  nothing  whatever  to  look  forward 
to;  but  all  to  no  avail.  He  sang  to  himself, 
told  himself  stories,  pounded  on  the  bedstead, 
and  turned  over  and  over  and  over  until  the 
bed-clothes  tumbled  to  the  floor.  Finally,  in 
101 


JOHNNIE 

the  midst  of  a  profound  attempt  to  think  of  still 
another  alternative,  he  fell  asleep. 

At  three  in  the  morning  he  awoke  with  a 
start,  and  immediately  dressed  and  stole  down 
stairs.  The  night  had  already  stretched  into 
arctic  length,  and  he  could  endure  the  suspense 
no  longer.  The  fire  was  low  in  the  fireplace, 
and  the  room  seemed  a  very  den  of  uncanny 
shadows.  But  through  the  gloom  his  distorted 
stockings  were  faintly  discernible,  beckoning 
him  with  irresistible  allurings.  He  crept  up  to 
them.  Yes,  they  were  filled  to  overflowing,  and 
upon  a  chair  near  by  was  a  wonderful  surplus 
of  mysterious  packages. 

Christmas  morning  dawned  at  last  with  its 
unforgetable  feasts  and  fun.  No  work  was  to 
be  done  that  day.  Gaiety  and  good  cheer  were 
the  prevailing  order.  Even  ordinary  methods 
of  pastime  were  not  to  be  thought  of.  Every 
thing  had  to  be  unusual  and  splendid.  Aunt 
Mary  and  her  family  were  there  for  dinner,  and 
Uncle  Andrew  came  out  from  the  city  with  his 
pockets  full  of  store  candy  and  fire-crackers. 
And  what  a  glorious,  deafening,  sulphurous 
pandemonium  ensued!  Dinner  was  a  sumptu- 
102 


CHRISTMAS 

ous  meal,  but  fraught  with  mockery  for  John 
nie,  already  surfeited  with  sweetmeats. 

How  quickly  it  all  passed !  The  sun  went 
down  shortly  after  dinner,  and,  just  as  Johnnie 
felt  himself  nearing  the  zenith  of  earthly  bliss, 
lo,  it  was  bedtime  again.  What  multitudes  of 
childhood's  chief  delights  have  been  interrupted 
by  that  inevitable  hour!  Bedtime  always  comes 
just  at  the  most  interesting  stage  and — presto, 
the  game  is  ended.  Even  to  the  poor,  gray- 
headed  child  of  four-score  it  is  ever  the  same — 
the  last  late  bedtime  finds  him  weary  and  heavy- 
eyed  perhaps,  but  wakeful  still  and  eager  to 
play  just  a  little  while  longer. 

To  Johnnie  it  was  all  blotted  out  in  a  strange, 
jumbled  dream  and  a  deep  sleep.  And  on  the 
morrow  the  sky  was  overcast,  a  dismal,  drizzling 
rain  was  falling,  and  Christmas  was  a  whole 
long  year  off ! 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


103 


XIII 

THE  PLOWMAN'S  WEARY  WAY 

THE  flowers  on  the  hillside  unfold  no  more 
gladly,  no  more  trustfully,  under  the  showers 
and  sunshine  of  April  than  does  the  heart  of 
boyhood.  They  are  emblems  of  each  other — 
youth  and  spring — and  there  is  a  kinship  be 
tween  them,  an  ancient  kinship  which  it  were 
necessary  to  return  to  the  May  time  of  creation 
to  trace. 

Springtime  is  ever  generous  and  true  to  the 
boy.  To  him  she  sends  her  earliest  greetings; 
to  him  her  promises  are  most  lavish,  and  to  him 
she  keeps  them,  every  one.  Signs  of  the  ap 
proach  of  spring  to  which  men  are  blind,  tokens 
which  the  poet  perceives  not,  are  revealed  to 
him. 

What    is    the    first    unfailing    harbinger    of 

spring?     Not    the    fickle    bluebird    that    comes 

flashing  down  the  fence,  like  an  elusive  bit  of 

summer   sky,   nor    the    rash,    uncertain   crocus, 

104 


THE    PLOWMAN'S    WEARY    WAY 

struggling  beneath  the  snow.  Poetic  symbols 
of  spring  they  may  be,  but  they  prophesy  noth 
ing. 

But  the  boy  knows  the  old  gray  mare  is  in 
spired.  One  crisp  morning  he  gallops  her, 
bareback,  up  from  the  pasture  and,  on  dis 
mounting,  finds  his  trousers'  leg  thickly  frosted 
with  her  silver  hair. 

There  is  not  a  bird  in  sight,  the  landscape  is 
dull  and  barren,  but  he  has  visible  proof  that 
spring  is  near. 

Do  not  imagine  that  nature  denies  him  her 
more  subtile  auguries,  however.  On  the  con 
trary,  it  is  to  the  boy  that  the  sunbeams  bear 
their  earliest  messages,  and  the  south  wind  seeks 
him  first  of  all.  The  twitter  of  the  pioneer 
robin  is  caught  by  his  ear,  and  he  notes  the  first 
faint  "quank"  of  the  flock  of  wild  geese,  pur 
suing  its  northward  course  across  the  unknown 
ocean  of  the  upper  air. 

When  at  last  spring  comes  creeping  up  the 
valley,  the  boy  goes  forth  to  meet  her,  and  his 
heart  leaps  in  unison  with  the  glad  pulses  of 
universal  life. 

He  is  an  artist  beyond  all  bounds  of  art;  a 
105 


JOHNNIE 

poet  above  the  trammel  of  words;  and,  being 
such,  he  is  content  to  gaze  upon  the  landscape 
without  analyzing  it,  and  is  satisfied  with  the 
perfume  of  the  commonest  flower.  It  is  not 
simply  the  glimmer  of  reflected  sunshine  that 
delights  him,  not  the  mere  external  beauty  of 
the  fields  and  the  balm  of  the  gentle  weather. 

These  are  but  harmonious  incidents  to  the 
boy,  for  he  communes  with  the  vernal  spirit  of 
the  season,  he  knows  the  true  inner  essence — 
that  wondrous  beauty  of  the  heart  of  things, 
and  he  becomes  an  integral  part  of  the  land 
scape,  blooming  with  the  flowers,  whistling  with 
the  birds,  and  exulting  with  all  nature.  And 
all  the  while  he  is  as  unconscious  of  this  rela- 

,f 

tionship,  as  spontaneous  and  irresponsible,  as 
are  the  birds. 

He  finds  a  thrush's  nest  and  robs  it  ruthlessly, 
while  the  thrush  is  away  preying  upon  insect 
life.  He  tosses  a  careless  clod  at  a  chattering 
jay,  which,  in  turn,  proceeds  to  chase  a  flock  of 
inoffensive  sparrows  out  of  the  woods. 

Perhaps  this  very  wantonness  of  boy  and  bird 
is  the  secret  of  their  exultation  and  enchant 
ment. 

106 


THE    PLOWMAN'S    WEARY    WAY 

Yet,  while  leaf  and  blossom  arc  but  inci 
dents  of  the  season  to  the  boy,  he  is  the  keenest 
of  observers,  and  no  detail  escapes  him.  He 
is  a  naturalist,  and  a  pantheist.  The  billowy 
verdure  of  the  meadow  impresses  him,  but  no 
more  than  the  vast  minutiae  of  under-life  be 
neath  it. 

Parting  the  grass,  he  becomes  a  gigantic 
member  of  the  colony  of  ants,  a  fellow  of  the 
order  of  the  grasshoppers,  and  a  companion  to 
the  beetle  and  the  snail.  Entering  the  cloister 
of  the  forest,  he  is  straightway  a  primeval  druid. 

He  comes  close  to  each  phase  of  sylvan  ex 
istence,  climbing  deftly  to  the  upper  haunts  of 
birds  and  squirrels,  and  scraping  beneath  the 
leaves  to  find  the  hidden  abode  of  grubs  and 
"doodle-bugs."  The  caterpillar  and  the  slug 
on  the  mossy  side  of  tree-trunks  and  the  busy 
spider,  oscillating  between  two  worlds,  are  fa 
miliar  to  him. 

Wherever  the  boy  goes  he  finds  adequate  ex 
pression  of  the  season's  gladness.  Even  the 
domestic  denizens  of  the  barnyard  are  found  as 
vociferous  in  their  joy  as  their  cousins  in  the 
field.  All  day  long  the  turkey-cock  struts  and 
107 


JOHNNIE 

gobbles  in  a  passion  of  proud  delight,  throwing 
back  a  bubbling,  half-challenging  salute  to 
every  sound  he  hears,  and,  when  all  else  fails, 
replying  to  his  own  ridiculous  echo  in  jeer  after 
jeer. 

More  sedate  and  sentimental,  the  chickens  go 
ambling  here  and  there  with  meditative  cluck- 
ings  and  croonings,  and  occasional  outbursts  of 
wonder  at  the  warmth  of  the  sun  and  the  plump 
ness  of  worms.  The  male  of  their  tribe  fre 
quently  lifts  his  voice  in  applause,  and  is  in 
clined  to  all  manner  of  levity,  shocking  the 
nervous  hens  into  hysterics  by  announcing 
make-believe  hawks,  and  creating  general  dis 
gust  by  calling  them  all  to  a  great  feast  and 
then  laughingly  eating  every  morsel  himself. 

The  boy  sees  it  all,  and  recognizes  kindred 
spirits  beneath  down  and  feathers,  and  nature 
back  of  all. 

It  is  only  after  spring  has  waxed  into  sum 
mer,  and  youth  has  waned  into  manhood,  that 
the  boy,  having  become  a  reflective  being,  and 
having  lost  that  sixth  sense  of  insight,  becomes 
impressed  unduly  with  the  outward  charm  of 
things.  Remembering  the  bygone  happiness  of 
108 


THE    PLOWMAN'S    WEARY    WAY 

spring  and  recalling  its  sweet  symbols,  he  is  apt 
to  attribute  the  one  to  the  other,  knowing  not, 
in  the  ignorance  of  maturity,  that  it  was  po 
tential  joy  which  brought  forth  bloom  and 
song,  and  not  they  which  caused  the  joy. 

Johnnie  had  reached  the  mature  age  of  thir 
teen  when  it  was  decided  that  instead  of  attend 
ing  school  during  the  spring,  he  must  make  a 
hand  on  the  farm.  It  was  one  of  the  most  joy 
ful  epochs  in  his  life,  and,  in  his  memory,  stood 
ever  next  to  that  proud  day  on  which  he  donned 
his  first  pair  of  trousers. 

As  soon  as  the  delightful  decree  had  been 
pronounced,  he  stole  out  to  the  barn  and  se 
cretly  practised  holding  the  plow-handles,  which 
came  almost  to  his  armpits.  The  implement 
was  jerked  about  manfully,  while  he  urged  his 
imaginary  horses  forward,  swearing  a  little  un 
der  his  breath  and  expectorating  between  his 
teeth  after  the  manner  of  the  Hired  Hand. 
This  rehearsal  he  repeated  daily  until  the  sea 
son  opened  and  plow-time  was  at  hand. 

What  a  glorious  spring  it  was!  Almost  as 
far  back  as  he  could  remember  heretofore  he 
had  been  compelled  to  start  to  school  just  as 
109 


JOHNNIE 

wild  flowers  and  birds'  nests  were  beginning  to 
be  seductively  interesting.  But  that  season  he 
was  free.  Every  morning  he  was  the  first  one 
astir  about  the  place,  and  there  was  an  over 
flowing,  liquid  delight  in  his  whistle  that  made 
the  brown  thrush  pause  and  listen. 

The  eventful  day  came  at  last.  Johnnie  was 
to  perform  a  man's  work.  With  dignified 
tread  he  followed  his  plow  into  the  new  ground, 
thick  with  stumps,  where  his  mettle  was  to  be 
tested.  It  was  severe  and  exasperating  labor. 
The  horses  were  stubborn,  and  the  unwieldy 
plow  was  forever  becoming  entangled  in  the  un 
derground  network  of  roots.  At  night  Johnnie 
retired  footsore  and  weary,  and  yet  by  no  means 
disheartened  or  even  disillusioned. 

There  was  a  wondrous,  unforgetable  charm 
for  him  in  these  first  brief  days  of  plow-time. 
The  subtile  odor  of  opening  flowers  and  fresh 
foliage  mingled  with  the  mellow  aroma  of  up 
turned  sod  and  the  spicy  incense  of  burning 
stumps  and  logs.  Every  cool  breeze  from  the 
adjacent  woods  brought  a  multitude  of  merry 
songs  and  chirpings,  while  the  eye  was  greeted 


no 


/ 

•  WA* 
*•*    ; 


THE    PLOWMAN'S    WEARY    WAY 

on  every  hand  by  those  delicate,  velvety  tints 
of  green,  of  yellow,  red,  and  blue,  which  belong 
only  to  the  springtime. 

In  the  midst  of  this  bower  of  beauty  walked 
Johnnie,  doing  a  man's  work.  Perhaps  after 
all  it  was  the  tremendous  importance  of  this 
task  as  much  as  the  charm  of  his  surroundings 
which  made  him  in  love  with  the  whole  world. 

When  the  full-blown  summer  came,  however, 
it  found  him  growing  weary  and  restless,  though 
he  would  not  confess  the  fact,  even  to  himself. 
Inwardly,  almost  unconsciously,  he  wished  he 
could  retire  to  his  comfortable  place  at  school 
for  a  while. 

The  sun  had  grown  relentlessly  hot,  and  the 
birds  had  gone  so  deep  into  the  forest  that  their 
sleepy  twittering  was  but  barely  audible.  All 
the  more  dainty,  modest  flowers  had  shed  their 
petals  and  succumbed  to  a  host  of  coarse  weeds, 
while  lurking  thorns  and  brambles  lay  every 
where  in  waiting  to  vex  bare  feet. 

In  the  space  of  six  weeks  the  corn  had  climbed 
up  to  Johnnie's  shoulders,  and  through  the  long, 
lonely  afternoons,  as  he  followed  the  plow  back 


111 


JOHNNIE 

and  forth  across  the  field,  like  a  huge  monoto 
nous  shuttle,  weaving  a  vast  woof  of  green  and 
black,  his  courage  and  industry  faltered  sadly. 

There  was  little  rest  to  be  found  within  the 
confines  of  the  corn-field.  As  often  as  he  halted 
his  team  and  mounted  the  fence  for  a  breathing 
spell,  a  swarm  of  flies  and  mosquitoes  hovered 
round  him,  while  a  choir  of  tiny  gnats  sang  a 
shrill  falsetto  in  his  ears. 

The  rainy  day  now  came  to  be  Johnnie's  one 
great  hope  and  consolation,  and  he  kept  an  ever 
watchful  eye  on  the  weather.  A  cloud  no 
bigger  than  his  hand  was  greeted  with  satisfac 
tion,  and  the  rumble  of  distant  thunder  was 
music  to  him.  And  when  a  shower  came  slant 
ing  across  the  landscape,  with  what  astonishing 
alacrity  did  he  unhitch  his  horses  and  gallop  to 
the  barn. 

There  was  no  comfort  in  after-life  to  be 
compared  to  that  which  was  his  as  he  lolled  in 
the  mow  and  listened  to  the  clatter  of  the  rain 
on  the  clapboard  roof  above  and  the  restful 
munching  of  the  horses  eating  hay  below. 

"This  here's  a  reg'lar  ol'  sockdolager!"  ob 
served  Eph  approvingly. 


THE    PLOWMAN'S    WEARY    WAY 

"It'll  make  it  too  wet  to  plow,  won't  it?" 
asked  Johnnie. 

"Well,  I  should  reckon,"  was  the  gratifying 
response.  "Doubt  if  we  don't  git  to  plow  no 
more  this  week." 

Johnnie's  eyes  shone  gleefully  at  this,  and 
he  involuntarily  brought  forth  a  tangle  of  fish- 
lines  from  his  pocket.  But  just  then  the  rain, 
after  a  cruelly  reassuring  dash,  suddenly 
ceased.  Johnnie  hastened  out.  He  scratched 
into  the  earth  with  his  toes  and  found — dust  at 
the  depth  of  an  inch! 

The  rainbow  in  the  east  was  anything  but  a 
symbol  of  hope  to  him.  The  western  sky  was 
clearing,  and  with  redoubled  intensity  the  hot 
sun  poured  its  rays  upon  the  humid  earth. 

"Hurry  back  to  the  field,  boys,"  called  Mr. 
Winkle  from  the  house;  "this  shower'll  start 
the  weeds  agin." 

At  such  a  time  the  corn-field  presented  all 
the  essentials  of  a  Turkish  bath.  As  Johnnie 
walked  between  the  rows  of  corn,  every  blade 
of  every  stalk  emptied  a  stream  of  warm  water 
down  his  back,  while  the  moist  ground  exhaled 
a  palpable  and  penetrating  steam. 
113 


, 


JOHNNIE 


Sometimes  it  rained  constantly  for  days  to 
gether.  Then  was  Johnnie  thoroughly  reju 
venated  once  more.  He  did  not  dread  getting 
wet,  when  in  pursuit  of  pleasure.  In  fact  he 
seemed  to  revel  and  luxuriate  in  the  rain,  and, 
with  trousers  rolled  high  above  his  knees,  dab 
bled  up  and  down  the  creek  like  a  young 
ichthyosaurus. 

Continued  wet  spells  were  rare,  however,  long 
and  withering  droughts  being  much  more  fre 
quent  ;  and  thus  the  summer  days  dragged  on  in 
tedious  repetition,  and  the  seasons  came  and 
went. 

But  even  in  the  drudgery  of  plowing  corn 
Johnnie  was  not  entirely  deserted  by  his  dreams. 
Often  fair  visions  wavered  in  the  air  about  him, 
and  in  his  ears  there  seemed  to  sound  far  strains 
of  mystic  music.  Low  down  on  the  eastern 
horizon  he  noticed  a  dusky  cloud  of  smoke  which 
marked  the  site  of  the  distant  city. 

As  the  years  went  by,  this  metropolitan  spec 
ter  acquired  a  fascination  for  Johnnie.  Day 
after  day  he  gazed  at  it  dreamily  as  it  drifted 
along,  and  every  new  fantastic  shape  it  assumed 
seemed  to  beckon  to  him  across  the  fields.  An 
114 


THE    PLOWMAN'S    WEARY   WAY 

indefinable  longing  came  over  him,  and,  out  of 
the  immaterial  smoke,  his  fancy  built  strange 
and  wonderful  air-castles. 

Slowly  the  simple  country  life  was  losing  its 
charm  for  him.  The  little  world  into  which  he 
had  been  born  was  growing  too  narrow  to  live 
in.  He  wondered  how  his  father  and  his  neigh 
bors  had  borne  such  a  barren  existence.  And 
slowly  but  surely,  the  half -formed  wish  be 
came  a  fixed  resolve.  He  would  some  day  go  to 
the  city. 


115 


XIV 


BUDDING 

WHILE  Johnnie's  material  world  contracted, 
his  intellectual  outlook  grew  somewhat  wider. 
As  the  hedge  of  forest  which  formed  his  hor 
izon  drew  nearer,  the  mystery  beyond  it  grew 
less  dense.  And  yet,  as  things  once  strange 
became  familiar,  new  wonders,  undreamed  of, 
came  into  view.  Physically,  spiritually,  senti 
mentally  Johnny  was  changing,  was  develop 
ing;  yet  this  evolution  was  imperceptibly  slow. 

Each  morning  the  same  lad  appeared  at  the 
Winkle  breakfast  table  that  had  eaten  supper 
there  the  night  before;  but  each  Christmas  a 
bigger  boy  hung  up  his  stocking,  and  every 
May-day  greeted  a  comparative  stranger. 

Among  the  new  and  peculiar  physical  traits 
that  his  fourteenth  summer  brought  him  was  a 
notable  and  ungainly  lankness.  His  limbs  ap 
proached  the  length  and  ungraceful  contour  of 
an  anthropoid  ape's,  and  came  un  jointed. 
116 


BUDDING 

Similarly  strange  mental  characteristics  were 
evinced.  He  became  excessively  shy  and  self- 
conscious,  blushing  more  readily  than  of  yore. 

In  fact  Johnnie  had  reached  that  incongru 
ous  stage  of  youth  of  which  the  nonsensical 
term  hobbledehoy  is  our  only  fitting  appella 
tion.  Though  still  a  boy,  he  was  no  longer  a 
child;  though  approaching  manhood,  he  was 
yet  far  from  manhood's  estate. 

There  is  no  way  to  describe  and  no  way  to 
account  for  the  boy  between  the  ages  of  twelve 
and  sixteen.  He  is  an  anomaly — an  inconsist 
ent,  illogical,  indeterminate,  improper  fraction, 
with  a  variable  numerator  and  an  unknown  de 
nominator.  No  one  understands  him,  and 
least  of  all  does  he  understand  himself. 

When  the  girl  arrives  at  womanhood's 
threshold,  she  simply  does  up  her  hair,  length 
ens  her  skirts,  and  trips  gracefully  in.  But 
the  boy  is  made  to  linger  at  manhood's  door, 
awkwardly  shifting  his  feet,  for  an  indefinite 
period. 

Among  the  legion  of  unstable,  quixotic  quali 
ties  which  go  to  make  up  the  hobbledehoy,  there 
is  one  nearly  constant  and  always  significant. 
117 


JOHNNIE 

This  is  his  novel  and  reverential  admiration  for 
womankind.  Heretofore  Johnnie  had  formed 
certain  boyish  attachments  for  particular  girls, 
usually  greatly  his  seniors,  but,  for  the  sex  in 
general,  he  had  a  supreme  contempt. 

Girls,  as  he  had  observed  them,  were  weak  and 
cowardly  and  inclined  to  be  goody-goodies  and 
tattle-tales.  But  now,  by  some  strange  miracle, 
the  scales  had  dropped  from  his  eyes,  and, 
whichever  way  he  turned,  he  seemed  to  find  new 
phases  of  feminine  beauty.  Maidens  with  whom 
he  had  played  and  quarreled  all  his  life  began 
to  wear  halos.  Freckled  faces  shone  with  lily- 
whiteness,  snub  noses  assumed  graceful  outlines, 
and  brown  eyes  and  blue  were  alike  beautiful 
and  bright. 

Perhaps  this  transformation  was  not  alto 
gether  fancied — no  doubt  the  girl-buds  of  his 
own  age  were  beginning  to  unfold  a  little  pre 
tentious  color  here  and  there;  but  chiefly  it  was 
a  subjective  illusion,  and  in  its  effects  it  was 
purely,  nay,  painfully  such. 

Johnnie's  very  meditations  grew  altered. 
Plans  for  the  remote  future  were  relinquished  in 
favor  of  more  immediate  accomplishments.  He 
118 


BUDDING 

became  concerned  not  so  much  with  what  he 
should  do  when  he  became  a  man  as  what  he 
should  do  next  week.  Such  trivial,  temporal 
matters  as  dress  commanded  his  attention,  and 
he  took  to  washing  his  face  and  hands  volunta 
rily.  On  Sunday  afternoons  he  went  no  more  into 
the  depths  of  the  forest,  but  lolled  listlessly  at  its 
verge. 

Gradually  his  day-dreams  accustomed  them 
selves  largely  to  the  sweet  theme  of  love,  and 
out  of  odd  fragments  of  experience  and  fancy 
an  ideal  of  feminine  loveliness  was  formed  in 
his  breast. 

Johnnie  was  altogether  unconscious  of  this 
creative  process,  and  scarcely  recognized  the 
import  of  his  brooding.  But,  with  the  length 
ening  of  his  legs  and  arms,  with  the  expand 
ing  of  his  mentality  and  the  augmentation  of 
his  awkwardness,  the  ideal  grew. 

When  one  day  fate — if  fate  may  be  truly 
said  to  interest  herself  with  such  affairs — 
brought  the  dreamy  boy  into  contact  with  Miss 
Mabel  Meadows,  the  queenly  twelve-year-old 
daughter  of  the  new  neighbor  who  had  pur 
chased  the  Shanks'  place,  straightway  the  sub- 
119 


JOHNNIE 

tile,  shadowy  ideal  became  a  living,  palpitating 
reality. 

It  happened  in  a  properly  romantic  way. 
Johnnie  was  roving  through  the  woods  knight- 
errantly  in  search  of  adventure  and  his  father's 
cows,  when  he  was  startled  to  hear  a  sudden  cry 
of  alarm  near  at  hand.  Parting  the  hazel 
brush,  he  beheld  a  very  pale,  very  young  lady, 
apparently  paralyzed  with  fear,  and  a  very 
small  garter-snake  in  a  similar  state,  staring 
fixedly  at  each  other. 

Johnnie  did  not  know  the  girl,  and  hesitated 
to  announce  himself  without  having  had  an  in 
troduction;  but  the  snake  presently  started  to 
wriggle  away,  and  it  was  against  the  vows  of 
his  order  to  permit  a  snake  to  escape.  So  he 
charged  gallantly  through  the  brush,  and  in 
another  moment  was  holding  the  squirming  rep 
tile  at  arm's  length  by  the  tail. 

"Ooh!  Ooh!  Ooh!"  shrieked  the  young  lady. 

"What  are  you  'fraid  of?"  asked  Johnnie, 
grinning.  "Think  it's  pizen?" 

"Oh,  the  horrid  thing !"  cried  she. 

"Just  watch  me  settle  its  hash,"  said  Johnnie 
fearlessly;  and  amid  renewed  screams  on  the 
120 


BUDDING 

girl's  part,  he  proceeded  to  lash  the  hapless 
serpent  against  a  tree. 

"Now  I  guess  it  won't  scare  no  more  girls," 
he  remarked,  tossing  it  to  the  ground. 

But  the  girl  had  begun  to  sob  piteously,  and 
this  disturbed  Johnnie.  He  stared  at  her  a  few 
moments  and  then  observed  doubtfully : 

"It  wasn't  a  pet  snake,  was  it?" 

"O  dear,  no,"  she  murmured.  "It  was  wild, 
and  was  goin'  to  bite  me  if — if  you  hadn't 
come." 

Johnnie  could  not  restrain  a  smile  of  derision. 

"Aw,  it  wouldn't  bite  a  flea,"  said  he.  "It 
ain't  that  kind.  Say,  I'm  goin'  to  turn  it  on 
its  back,  so  it'll  rain.  If  you  leave  a  snake  on 
its — its  stomick  it  won't  rain  at  all." 

"What  kind  is  it?"  asked  the  girl,  coming 
nearer. 

"Oh,  it's  a  common  enough  kind,"  he  an 
swered  evasively.  He  did  not  like  to  tell  her  its 
rather  indelicate  name. 

"Yes,  but  what  kind?"  she  persisted. 

"Aw,  what  you  hold  your  stockin's  up  with," 
he  stammered,  blushing  violently. 

"Oh,"  said  she.     Then  there  was  an  awkward 


JOHNNIE 

silence,  during  which  the  girl  glanced  shyly  at 
Johnnie,  and  Johnnie  gazed  at  the  dead  snake. 

"What's  your  name?"  she  asked  presently, 
toying  with  her  apron. 

"John  Winkle,"  said  he  sheepishly.  "What's 
yours  ?" 

"My  name  is  Mabel — Mabel  Meadows,"  she 
responded. 

Another  pause  ensued,  and  the  girl  carefully 
adjusted  her  bonnet. 

Then,  "Good  by,  John,"  she  exclaimed,  turn 
ing  upon  him  with  a  sudden  radiant  smile ;  and, 
with  fairy-like  lightness  and  grace,  she  drifted 
away. 

"Good  by,  Mabel,"  answered  Johnnie  hoarse 
ly,  when  he  had  recovered  his  voice.  But  she 
was  gone. 

A  soft  golden  gleam  illumined  the  woods,  and 
a  vernal  odor,  as  of  fresh-blown  violets,  per 
meated  the  air.  A  dove  in  a  distant  treetop 
nodded  approvingly  and  gave  voice  to  the  ten 
der  sentiments  welling  up  in  the  heart  of  all 
nature  in  mellifluous  coo  after  coo.  And,  al 
though  Johnnie  seemed  oblivious  of  these  cir 
cumstances  now,  many  a  time  afterward  he  re- 


BUDDING 

called  every  detail  with  distinctness.  For 
months  to  come  he  never  heard  the  moaning  of 
a  dove,  nor  killed  a  snake,  without  thinking  of 
the  day  he  first  met  Mabel. 

How  long  he  lingered  on  this  hallowed  spot 
he  knew  not;  but  at  length  he  roused  from  the 
reverie,  and,  taking  up  the  snake  as  a  memento 
of  the  occasion,  started  home.  He  was  still  so 
absorbed  in  thought  that  the  cows  were  forgot 
ten,  and  it  was  not  until  he  entered  the  barnyard 
bearing  his  reptilian  treasure  that  his  wits  re 
turned. 

Henceforth  Mabel  Meadows  was  the  angel  of 
Johnnie's  dreams.  He  remembered  her  in  his 
prayers  and  thought  of  her  whenever  tempted 
to  rob  a  bird's  nest  or  to  swear. 

It  is  an  instinct  of  the  hobbledehoy  to  conceal 
his  ardent  passion  religiously.  He  will  allow  it 
to  eat  his  heart,  will  suffer  upon  the  rack,  and 
not  reveal  it.  And  the  principal  cause  of  this 
secretiveness  is  not  really  the  sacred  nature  of 
his  love,  nor  a  tendency  to  be  selfish,  but  the 
haunting  fear  of  being  made  fun  of. 

A  boy  would  rather  be  lashed  with  a  cat-o'- 
nine-tails  than  be  laughed  at. 
123 


JOHNNIE 

No  murderer  ever  guarded  his  crime  more 
scrupulously  than  did  Johnnie  conceal  his  love. 
He  mentioned  Mabel's  name  to  no  one,  and  did 
not  even  permit  himself  to  think  of  her  except 
when  alone. 

One  day  when  Mr.  Meadows  came  to  see  his 
father,  Johnnie  ran  and  hid  for  fear  his  secret 
might  in  some  way  be  discovered,  afterwards 
asking  Eph  who  the  visitor  was,  as  if  he  had  no 
idea. 


When  school  opened  that  fall  Johnnie  started 
in  a  fever  of  expectancy.  All  the  way  he  argued 
with  himself  pro  and  con,  as  to  whether  Mabel 
would  be  likely  to  be  there,  and  formulated  a 
careful  schedule  of  what  his  behavior  should  be 
in  either  case.  How  his  heart  thumped  as  he 
drew  near  and  beheld  her  standing  alone  on  the 
stile! 

But  a  group  of  boys  sat  on  the  fence  not  far 
away,  and,  banishing  all  former  plans,  Johnnie 
suddenly  resolved  not  to  know  her.  That 
seemed  to  be  the  only  outlet  of  escape  from  his 
mates'  ridicule. 


BUDDING 

Assuming  an  air  of  easy  carelessness,  he  saun 
tered  on. 

"Howd'y,  John,"  whispered  the  girl  as  he 
brushed  past  her. 

Johnnie's  face  flushed,  and  his  heart  beat  so 
loudly  that  he  had  no  doubt  she  heard  it,  but 
he  offered  no  sign  of  recognition. 

This  apparently  unprovoked  slight  cut  Mabel 
to  the  quick.  Yet,  if  she  had  only  known  it, 
Johnnie  was  wounded  much  more  seriously  than 
she. 

"If  she  but  knew — "  he  whispered  to  himself 
week  after  week.  But  he  could  no  more  tell  her 
than  if  he  had  been  born  dumb. 


125 


XV 


THE    BANE    OF    BASHFULNESS 

OF  all  the  phenomena  of  boyhood,  perhaps, 
the  state  of  being  bashful  is  the  most  ridiculous 
and,  subjectively,  the  most  rueful.  It  is  the 
fate  of  most  boys  to  pass  through  a  more  or  less 
prolonged  period  of  bashfulness ;  but,  like  the 
measles  and  mumps,  it  is  an  affliction  which 
varies  greatly  in  different  individuals.  It  is 
probable  that  in  extreme  cases  it  has  suppressed 
and  ruined  what  might  have  been  brilliant 
careers ;  that  Miltons  have  been  rendered  for 
ever  mute  and  inglorious  by  its  bane. 

Now  and  then  a  boy  is  found  whose  bashful- 
ness  is  so  pronounced  that  his  freckles  stand  out 
on  a  facial  background  of  continuous  blushes, 
like  flecks  of  rust  on  a  red  apple ;  and  his  eyes, 
which  really  have  less  cause  to  be  downcast  than 
the  optics  of  any  of  his  elders,  are  constantly 
averted,  so  that  their  color  is  a  matter  of  con 
jecture. 


THE    BANE    OF    BASHFULNESS 

~ 
Such  a  boy  is  simply  a  ruddy,  palpitating 

bundle  of  mortification.  He  is  never  at  ease, 
never  his  natural  self,  save  when  alone.  He  is 
always  making  ludicrous  blunders,  and  is  always 
painfully  aware  of  them.  The  knowledge  that 
he  is  bashful  tortures  him ;  and  this  self-con 
sciousness  in  turn  serves  to  render  his  bashful- 
ness  more  intense.  Wherever  he  goes  he  is  a  self- 
imposed  martyr,  refraining  from  activity  for 
fear  of  attracting  notice,  his  studied  efforts  to 
keep  in  the  background  all  the  while  making 
him  conspicuous. 

Johnnie  Winkle,  who  had  been  at  different 
periods  a  good  boy,  a  cute  boy,  a  pert  boy,  a 
mischievous  and  sometimes  a  bad  boy,  became 
known  far  and  wide  as  a  bashful  boy.  He  was 
confessedly  afraid  of  girls.  Other  boys  whom 
he  could  outrun,  out  jump,  spell  down,  and 
thrash,  easily  surpassed  him  in  grace  and  gal 
lantry.  Every  recess  friends  and  enemies  of  his 
joined  the  girls  in  gay  games  of  forfeit  and 
Rowser  without  embarrassment.  Yet  he  could 
not  even  address  a  coherent  remark  to  a  girl.  It 
was  a  lamentable,  woeful  weakness  to  a  boy  of 
Johnnie's  spirits.  He  lay  awake  of  nights  heap- 
127 


JOHNNIE 

ing  imprecations  upon  it,  and  resolved  to  do  all 
sorts  of  dreadful  things. 

What  especially  tortured  him  was  the  sorry 
figure  he  continued  to  cut  in  Mabel  Meadows' 
eyes.  From  the  fateful  day  on  which  he  had 
deliberately  insulted  her  by  refusing  to  ac 
knowledge  her  acquaintance,  she  had  quite  prop 
erly  ignored  his  existence.  Moreover,  of  late  she 
had  become  great  friends  with  Reddy.  Johnnie 
had  licked  Reddy  and  could  do  it  again  any 
day;  but  in  social  matters  the  tables  were 
turned.  Reddy,  alias  Jimmy  Jenks,  when  he 
reached  the  age  at  which  he  ought  to  have  been 
bashful,  had  become  more  forward  and  pig 
gishly  presumptuous  than  ever. 

Altogether  the  unfortunate  state  of  affairs 
humiliated  Johnnie  to  the  verge  of  desperation. 
Jealousy  of  one  whom  he  had  always  held  in  the 
utmost  contempt  was  added  to  his  pangs. 

In  the  course  of  time  a  party  was  announced 
at  Mabel's,  and  Johnnie  was  invited.  With  a 
solemn  oath  he  declared  his  intention  to  go. 
Not  only  would  he  attend  the  party,  but  he 
would  take  active  part  in  the  games,  and  be  a 
man,  so  help  him!  It  had  come  to  this.  He 
128 


THE    BANE    OF    BASHFULNESS 

must  either  do  or  die — or  both.  The  eventful 
night  was  not  slow  in  coming;  in  fact,  it  came 
with  a  swiftness  that  was  terrifying.  But  John 
nie  remained  firm.  Early  in  the  evening  he 
dressed  and  sallied  forth. 

He  approached  the  house  stealthily  from  the 
rear  with  scarcely  a  tremor.  He  knew  he  would 
not  go  in,  for  it  was  hours  too  early  yet.  Seat 
ing  himself  on  the  fence  he  fondly  watched  the 
house,  which  held  his  beloved,  fade  away  in  the 
dusk. 

At  length,  lights  began  to  shine  at  windows, 
and  he  heard  voices  in  the  yard.  Growing  pan 
icky  he  slipped  down  and  crept  back  into  the 
woods.  There  a  fierce  battle  was  waged  in  his 
breast.  Pride  kept  saying  over  and  over,  "I 
will  go  in" ;  but  as  soon  as  he  reached  the  fence 
again  timidity  would  make  a  sudden  charge  and 
say  firmly,  "I  won't  go  in." 

After  repeated  routs,  rallies,  and  flank  move 
ments,  however,  pride  won  the  day — or  rather, 
the  night — and  Johnnie  found  himself  at  the 
party. 

He  marched  in  boldly  and  flung  himself  into 
the  thick  of  the  merriment,  laughing  and  chat- 
129 


JOHNNIE 

tering  until  some  were  made  to  believe  that  he 
was  having  a  good  time.  But,  alas,  it  was  only 
by  sheer  force  of  will  that  he  assumed  to  be  at 
ease,  and  the  feeling  grew  upon  him  that  he 
was  talking  stupidly,  laughing  idiotically,  and 
acting  the  fool. 

The  strain  was  too  great,  and  in  the  midst  of 
it  all  Johnnie  broke  down.  The  tide  of  bashful- 
ness  came  surging  back  upon  him,  sweeping  him 
off  his  feet.  He  dropped  out  of  the  game,  mur 
mured  something  about  going  home,  and  began 
peeping  about  under  sofas  and  chairs  in  an  aim 
less  way  until  Mabel  asked:  "Why,  what  is  the 
matter,  John?" 

"Oh,  I  was  just  looking  round,"  he  replied 
carelessly.  "I  wonder  where  my  hat  is." 

"It's  on  the  rack  in  the  hall,  isn't  it?"  sug 
gested  Mabel.  Then  she  ran  and  got  it.  "Must 
you  really  go?"  she  asked  anxiously. 

Johnnie  would  not  hurt  her  feelings  for  the 
world. 

"Oh,  no ;  I  guess  I'll  wait  a  while  yet,"  he  an 
swered  obligingly.  "I  just  wanted  my  hat," 
and  he  laughed  vacantly. 

"'Fraid  somebody  'd  steal  it?"  suggested 
130 


THE    BANE    OF   BASHFULNESS 

Rcddy,  elbowing  by  with  a  smirk;  and  Johnnie 
was  too  shamed  even  to  resent  his  rival's  inso 
lence. 

For  the  rest  of  the  evening  he  stood  around 
engaged  in  clinging  to  his  hat  and  blushing. 
He  would  have  gone  home — he  would  rather 
have  gone  home  than  to  heaven — but  one  in 
surmountable  obstacle  lay  in  his  way.  Etiquette, 
that  constant  plague  of  bashful  boyhood,  re 
quired  that  he  should  thank  his  hostess  for  the 
pleasures  of  the  evening  before  departing;  and 
this  he  could  not  do. 

So  he  lingered  on,  like  the  boy  on  the  burn 
ing  deck,  and  in  much  the  same  state  of  mind, 
until  "all  but  him  had  fled." 

As  the  others  spoke  their  polite  farewells,  he 
had  listened  intently  to  each  formula,  and  he  de 
cided  that  he  would  say: 

"I  assure  you,  Miss  Mabel,  I  have  had  a  de 
lightful  time." 

Drawing  himself  up  in  line  at  last  he  began : 
"I  have  had  an  assuring  time — I  mean  I'm  de 
lightful,  Miss  Mabel,"  he  stammered,  gazing 
yearningly  at  the  door-knob. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Mabel,  courteously. 
131 


JOHNNIE 

"Oh,  not  at  all,  I'm  sure,"  rejoined  Johnnie 
affably,  grinding  his  teeth ;  then :  "Well,  I  guess 
I'd  better  be  going." 

"Really?"  smiled  Mabel. 

"I  think  I'd  better;  it's  getting  late." 

"Yes." 

He  had  reached  the  door  and,  having  ex 
hausted  all  his  powers  of  conversation,  was  star 
ing  awkwardly  at  the  floor  when  he  heard  Red- 
dy's  well-known  voice  at  a  window. 

"Aw,  come  off!"  it  exclaimed,  derisively;  and 
with  murder  in  his  heart  Johnnie  rushed  wildly 
out. 

This  was  all  very  amusing,  or  harrowing,  ac 
cording  to  the  point  of  view.  To  the  malicious 
Reddy  it  was  funny;  to  Johnnie  it  was  simply 
calamitous.  Not  being  a  natural  fool  he  realized 
his  folly,  and  indeed  magnified  it  to  terrible 
dimensions. 

All  the  way  home  in  fancy  he  could  hear  Ma 
bel  and  Reddy  making  merry  together  over  his 
stupidity,  till  the  very  welkin  rang  with  their 
mockful  laugh.  With  every  step  he  muttered 
an  evil,  "Dog-gone  it ;  dog-gone  it."  There  were 
no  stars  in  the  sky,  no  dew  was  on  the  grass — 


THE    BANE    OF    BASHFULNESS 

the  world  was  an  immense  mass  of  darkness 
whirling  through  a  universe  of  gloomy,  gray 
mist ;  and  life  was  the  emptiest  of  idle  dreams. 

Sadly  he  stole  up  to  his  bedchamber — his 
cheerless  bedchamber,  from  which  he  had  gone 
forth  so  full  of  hope,  of  vaunting  pride  and 
fond  ambition  a  few  brief  hours  before.  Sadly 
he  tumbled  into  bed,  and  with  his  last  waking 
breath  sighed  soulfully  again,  "Dog-gone  it." 

Johnnie  resolved  never  to  venture  upon  the 
social  sea  again.  Never  would  he  expose  him 
self  to  the  taunts  of  his  inferiors  and  the  ridicule 
of  dear  Mabel  any  more.  Evidently  nature  had 
not  fitted  him  to  shine  in  company.  And  what 
was  the  use  of  opposing  nature's  unalterable 

planS?  |i*L 

His  lot  was  to  be  that  of  the  recluse.     So  be 

it.  He  would  retire  meekly  to  the  lonely  depths 
of  the  forest  and  become  a  hermit,  living  sparse 
ly  and  broken-heartedly  upon  nuts  and  herbs. 
Man  he  would  shun,  and  the  face  of  woman 
he  would  never  look  upon  again.  The  four- 
footed  and  feathered  folk  of  the  woods  should  be 
his  only  friends. 

He  planned  how   he  would  build  himself  a 
133 


JOHNNIE 

nest  in  the  top  of  a  giant  oak,  where  the  winds 
would  rock  him  to  sleep,  while  the  silent  stars 
watched  above  him,  and  the  wretched  world  un 
wept  sank  out  of  sight. 

Day  after  day  he  would  awaken  ere  the  sun, 
and,  descending  from  his  high  abode,  gather  his 
scant  supply  of  food  with  the  squirrels,  to  scam 
per  aloft  again  before  sluggard  humanity 
stirred. 

If,  at  any  time,  his  serenity  should  be  dis 
turbed  by  a  human  presence,  if  some  girl — as 
Mabel,  for  instance — should  chance  to  stray 
within  the  boundaries  of  his  realm,  how  haught 
ily  he  would  stare  down  at  her  through  the  fo 
liage  !  And  if  she  should  happen  to  lift  her  eyes 
and  see  him  as  he  swung  airily  from  bough  to 
bough,  if  a  look  of  anguished  longing  should 
overspread  her  face,  if  she  should  break  forth 
in  remorseful  lamentations  and  beg  him  to  come 
back,  come  back  to  her — well,  his  voice  would 
tremble,  maybe,  and  his  eyes  might  grow  misty ; 
but  he  wrould  answer  her  calmly,  tenderly  but 
firmly :  "It  is  too  late,  Mabel ;  alas,  too  late." 

Johnnie,  furthermore,  decided  as  to  how  he 
would  dispose  of  Reddy  if  he  ever  came  across 
134 


THE    BANE    OF    BASHFULNESS 

his  path ;  and  the  foreordained  treatment  of  that 
worthy,  while  less  poetical,  was  fully  as  gratify 
ing  as  his  imaginary  interview  with  Mabel. 


1  i  d  4w 

.  £  I  xY^v 


THE    RALLY 

IT  was  on  a  Saturday  afternoon  late  in  Oc 
tober  that  Johnnie  went  into  the  woods  in  a  half- 
fanciful  search  for  his  destined  lone  retreat. 
Whether  under  guidance  of  his  dreaming  con 
sciousness,  or  directed  by  the  unerring  hand  of 
fate,  it  happened  that  his  steps  led  him  to  the 
very  spot  where  he  and  Mabel  had  met  some 
months  before. 

He  was  not  slow  to  recognize  his  surround 
ings,  and,  racked  by  contending  emotions,  he 
threw  himself  on  the  ground  to  meditate.  Re 
clining  listlessly  on  his  elbow,  he  gazed  about. 
Here  was  where  the  snake  had  been;  over  there 
was  where  Mabel  had  stood.  The  screen  of  ha 
zel  through  which  he  had  peered  still  inclosed 
the  cherished  nook.  The  same  trees  arched 
above,  the  same  grass  formed  its  carpet. 

And  yet  nothing  was  the  same  after  all.  Al 
ready  time's  most  ruthless  token,  the  yellow 
136 


THE    RALLY 

blight  of  autumn,  was  becoming  visible  every 
where.  Bleak  winds  came  and  went  mournfully 
through  the  tree-tops,  filling  the  forest  with  the 
clatter  of  descending  nuts  and  the  flutter  of  fall 
ing  leaves,  and  the  grass  was  harsh  and  with 
ered,  retaining  scarcely  more  of  its  former  color 
than  the  flecks  of  sodden  sky  above. 

To  Johnnie  this  universal  fading  of  things 
seemed  most  fitting,  and  his  own  breast  heaved 
with  sighs  with  every  moan  of  the  forest.  He 
was,  indeed,  the  very  embodiment  of  the  au 
tumnal  spirit. 

The  morbid  melancholy  of  boyhood  is  a  pain 
ful  thing.  The  height  of  sentimental  spiritual 
ity,  to  which  lovelorn  youth  oftentimes  ascends, 
would  be  sublime,  were  it  not  so  ridiculous. 

In  the  midst  of  his  maunderings  Johnnie  be 
came  aware  of  a  presence,  and,  starting  up  in 
confusion,  whom  should  he  behold  but  the  fair 
Mabel  herself,  standing  with  downcast  eyes  and 
folded  hands  before  him ! 

"Howd'y,  John,"  she  said,  demurely  stepping 
forward. 

"Howd'y,"  gasped  Johnnie,  with  pallid  face 
and  averted  eyes. 

137 


JOHNNIE 

"What  you  doing?  Hunting  snakes?"  asked 
Mabel,  after  waiting  a  moment  for  him  to  say 
something. 

"No'p,"  responded  Johnnie  glumly,  edging 
away.  Then  a  thought  struck  him. 

"Only  red-headed  ones,"  he  added  with  terse 
meaning. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"You're  awful  innocent." 

"Honest,  I  don't  understand  you." 

"Who  was  you  looking  for,  then?"  accus 
ingly. 

"Me?" 

"Yes,  you." 

"I  wasn't  looking  for  anybody  particular," 
with  blushes. 

"Whereabouts  is  Reddy?"  and  Johnnie  faced 
her  sternly. 

"I  don't  know,  and  I  don't  care." 

"Yes,  you  don't — "  very  sarcastically. 

"That  red-headed  thing !"  with  great  disdain. 

"You  like  him,  don't  you?" — this  somewhat 
softly. 

Mabel  replied  with  a  decisiveness  which  made 
Johnnie's  heart  bound,  "No,  I  don't!" 
138 


THE    RALLY 

During  the  silence  that  followed  Johnnie 
picked  up  a  stick  and  began  poking  into  the 
ground  thoughtfully. 

"I  hate  him!"  exclaimed  Mabel  vehemently. 

"So  do  I,"  responded  Johnnie,  with  feeling. 

"Say,"  began  Mabel  after  another  pause. 

"Say  what?" 

"I'm  not  going  to  have  a  thing  to  do  with 
him  any  more." 

"I  wouldn't  either,"  said  Johnnie  sympathet 
ically. 

Then  Mabel  drew  shyly  nearer,  and  Johnnie 
stood  his  ground,  though  his  brain  was  reeling. 

"I I    like    you    the    best,"    she    whispered, 

glancing  up  at  him. 

A  visible  thrill  passed  over  Johnnie  from 
head  to  foot,  and  he  was  stricken  speechless.  He 
wanted  to  answer  her  fittingly,  he  wanted  to 
caress  her,  he  wanted  to  turn  a  glad  flip-flop 
on  the  grass;  but  he  could  only  stand  there 
and  poke  the  stick  furiously  into  the  ground. 

"This  is  the  same  place  where  we  first  met," 
began  Mabel  again  presently.     "I  have  thought 
of  it  so  often.    You  can't  guess  how  I  happened 
to  come  here  to-day,  John."  She  paused, 
139 


"I  saw  you  and  followed  you." 


Ml 


JOHNNIE 

No'p,"  said  he. 
I  saw  you  and  f 

Johnnie's  brain  reeled  again.  Was  this  a  de 
ceitful  dream  ? 

Was  he  sleeping,  and  would  he  presently 
awake?  Was  the  wind  still  sobbing,  and  were 
the  dead  leaves  falling?  No,  surely  it  was  sum 
mer  time  again. 

"I'm  glad,"  he  murmured  dreamily  at  length, 
speaking  the  truth  that  was  uppermost  in  his 
heart. 

Mabel  looked  up  and  laughed;  then  a  shade 
of  vexation  came  into  her  face. 

"But  why  do  you  snub  me  at  school,  John?" 
she  asked  earnestly. 

"Because — Oh,  just  because,"  said  he  in  con 
fusion  again. 

"Do  you  like  me?" 

"Yes — awful,"  then,  drawing  himself  to 
gether  with  sudden  force,  "I'm  'fraid  of  the 
teacher." 

The  conversation  became  less  personal  at 
length,  but  to  Johnnie  no  less  interesting. 
Nothing  she  could  say  lacked  interest. 


140 


THE    RALLY 

Finally  the  lateness  of  the  afternoon  forced 
them  to  part. 

"Don't  you  ever  tell  about  this,"  warned 
Johnnie,  as  he  started  away ;  and  again  when 
he  had  gone  a  little  distance  he  stopped,  and 
turning  round  repeated,  "Don't  you  ever  tell !" 

And  the  joyous  little  bird-voice  echoed  back 
sweetly,  "I  won't,  John,"  and,  tenderly,  "Good 
by!" 

When  Johnnie  reached  home  that  evening  he 
seemed  so  profoundly  happy  that  his  mother 
cross-examined  him  closely,  fearing  he  had  been 
into  mischief.  He  became  suspiciously  embar 
rassed,  too,  under  her  questions;  but  all  she 
could  get  out  of  him  was  that  he  had  been  in  the 
woods. 

The  fiercest  inquisition  of  old  could  never 
have  extorted  from  Johnnie  the  secret  of  his 
tryst  with  Mabel. 

Swiftly  and  happily  Johnnie  relinquished  his 
dreams  of  a  lodge  in  the  wilderness.  There  was 
a  new  and  notable  manliness  in  his  bearing  and  a 
proud  gleam  in  his  eye  when  he  appeared  at 
school  Monday  morning. 


141 


JOHNNIE 

The  knowledge  that  Mabel  liked  him — cared 
for  him  (he  could  not  quite  bring  himself  to  use 
the  word  love) — had  wrought  a  revolution  in 
his  every  relationship.  Although  by  no  means 
blind  to  his  blunders  and  awkwardness,  the  fact 
that  such  a  critic  as  Mabel  did  not  deem  him  al 
together  stupid  reassured  him,  and  self-assur 
ance  was  what  he  most  needed. 

At  recess  a  game  of  Weevily  Wheat  was  be 
gun  under  the  locusts  in  the  school-yard.  With 
his  accustomed  freshness  Reddy  sauntered  up 
to  Mabel,  and,  taking  her  familiarly  by  the  arm, 
boldly  declared  that  she  should  be  his  partner. 
But  Mabel  shook  him  off  haugthily,  and  a  mo 
ment  later  was  tripping  through  the  mazes  of 
the  game  (which  was  really  a  sort  of  quadrille, 
although  the  children  did  not  know  it)  as  John 
nie  Winkle's  chosen  mate. 

Reddy  went  and  leaned  against  a  tree  and 
made  taunting  comments  upon  them. 

"Ain't  he  a  dandy?"  and  "See  the  periwin 
kle!"  and  "Keep  off  her  feet,  won't  you?"  he 
cried  spitefully. 

When  the  set  was  concluded  Johnnie  stepped 
aside  and  beckoned  Roddy  to  follow.  Reddy 


THE 

UNIVERSITY 


THE    RALLY 

acquiesced  with  an   easy  air,  destined   soon 

.  , 
vanish. 

The  back  fence  was  reached,  and  Johnnie 
took  his  whilom  rival  by  the  ear. 

"See  here,  Reddy,"  he  began  impressively, 
"I've  got  a  notion  to  wallup  the  daylights  out  of 
you." 

Reddy  squirmed  and  his  florid  face  grew  as 
pale  as  it  could. 

"You're  a  dog-goned  little  pup,  an'  you  got 
to  let  Mabel  alone.  D'ye  understand?"  Johnnie 
went  on,  placing  a  fist  beneath  Reddy's  nose. 

"Why,  I  don't  want  to  bother  her,"  quaked 
Reddy.  "I  don't  care  nothin'  about  her  —  if 
she'll  let  me  be.  She  ain't  —  " 

"Shut  up!"  commanded  Johnnie  sharply. 
"Don't  you  dare  say  nothin'  about  her." 

"Why,  course  I  won't.  Say,  John,"  and 
Reddy  became  effusively  confidential,  "I  bet 
you  can't  guess  what  she  said  about  you."  And 
before  Johnnie  could  interrupt  him:  "She  said 
she  thought  you  was  the  nicest  boy  in  this 
school  —  honest,  she  did,  an'  I  can  prove  it." 

This  information  had  the  desired  effect  of  ap 
peasing  the  avenger's  wrath  somewhat;  and 


JOHNNIE 

when  the  bell  rang  the  unpleasant  affair  had 
been  amicably  settled. 

Thenceforth  Johnnie  and  Mabel  became  ac 
knowledged  and  bona-fide  school  sweethearts. 
Their  passion  was  largely  of  the  passive,  pen 
sive  sort,  evincing  itself  not  so  much  in  language 
as  in  smiles,  and  sighs,  and  longing,  in  exalta 
tion,  and  melancholia,  and  loss  of  appetite. 

In  truth,  their  love  was  of  the  kind  which  cer 
tain  old  people,  who  have  never  been  young,  are 
wont  to  style  "puppy-love," — the  kind  which,  to 
one  who  perceives  the  heart  of  things,  is  the 
purest,  most  divine,  and,  not  seldom,  the  most 
enduring  form  of  affection. 

To  Johnnie's  innocent  imagination  Mabel  was 
simply  a  hallowed  angel,  while  in  her  eyes  he  as 
sumed  the  aspect  of  a  hero,  capable  of  all  things 
noble  and  good. 

Nor  is  it  likely  that  their  estimates  of  each 
other  in  the  abstract  ever  came  nearer  the  truth ; 
for,  just  as  they  were  then,  in  all  their  childish 
innocence  and  ignorance,  their  youthful  deli 
cacy  and  maidenly  reserve,  were  they  not  hap 
pier  and  better  and  wiser  than  most  of  their 
supercilious  elders,  or  than  they  themselves 
might  ever  be  again? 

144 


XVII 

A    SORROWFUL    DENOUEMENT 

ONE  of  the  fresh  snows  of  midwinter  had  fal 
len,  and  Johnnie  was  searching  for  the  ax  pre 
paratory  to  going  rabbit  hunting,  when  he  no 
ticed  his  father  and  Mr.  Meadows  conversing 
earnestly  together  in  the  orchard  lot,  back  of  the 
barn. 

Mr.  Meadows  was  a  highly  interesting  man 
to  Johnnie,  and,  although  he  always  felt  rather 
ill  at  ease  in  so  august  a  presence,  he  decided  he 
would  like  to  hear  what  was  being  said. 

So,  strolling  carelessly  into  their  vicinity,  he 
stopped  at  a  peach-tree  and  began  to  pick  the 
withered  buds  to  pieces  with  great  pains,  under 
pretense  of  ascertaining  whether  they  had  been 
winter-killed. 

"Yes,  it  is  a  poor  time  to  move,"  Mr.  Mead 
ows  was  saying,  "but  you  see  it's  a  chance  I  can't 
let  slip.     I  make  a  clean  thousand  to  start  with, 
and  fair  prospects  for  more." 
145 


JOHNNIE 

"When  do  you  go?"  asked  Mr.  Winkle. 

"Three  weeks  from  Tuesday,  if  nothing  hap 
pens." 

Then  they  walked  off,  and  presently  Mr. 
Meadows  went  home. 

Johnnie  crept  away.  He  had  heard  enough 
— more  than  enough.  All  the  time  he  had  felt 
that  something  was  going  to  happen;  and  this 
was  it.  Mabel  was  going  away.  Going  away, 
and  he  would  never  see  her  again. 

What  a  sad,  sodden,  snow-bound  world  it  was ! 
He  went  and  climbed  into  the  haymow,  where 
he  could  nurse  his  misery  undisturbed. 

"Well,  what  on  airth  air  ye  doin'  here, 
sonny?"  cried  Eph  in  amazement  when  he  came 
at  noon  to  feed  the  horses.  "We  all  thought  ye 
wuz  out  chasin'  cotton-tails." 

"No'p,"  said  Johnnie  dolefully,  "I  ain't  feel 
ing  well,  Eph." 

"Well,  Lord,  why  don't  ye  go  to  the  house 
then.  Ye'll  ketch  yer  death  out  here,"  and 
under  a  stream  of  reproof  Johnnie  slunk  out. 

At  dinner  his  lack  of  appetite  confirmed  the 
assertion  that  he  was  not  well.  But  he  remained 
at  the  table  throughout  the  meal  and,  after  re- 
146 


A    SORROWFUL    DENOUEMENT 


peated  attempts,  finally  succeeded  in  leading 
his  father  to  discuss  the  topic  uppermost  in  his 
mind  and  deepest  in  his  heart. 

"Meadowses  are  going  to  move  away,"  said 
Mr.  Winkle  across  the  table  to  his  wife;  and  he 
proceeded  to  explain  the  whys  and  wherefores 
of  the  case,  whilst  Johnnie  unwittingly  gulped 
down  great  crusts  of  bread. 

The  next  day,  which  was  Sunday,  was  very 
long  and  lonesome.  As  evening  drew  on  John 
nie  became  uncontrollably  restless  and  finally 
stole  upstairs  and  put  on  his  best  suit  of  clothes. 

Ere  long  he  might  have  been  seen  speeding 
across  lots,  like  a  shadow  in  the  dusk,  toward 
the  Meadows  place.  He  was  going  to  pay  Ma 
bel  a  call.  All  the  way  he  wondered  at  himself 
and  could  hardly  believe  it.  He  would  almost 
have  wagered  that  he  was  only  shamming  and 
would  not  actually  go  up  and  knock  at  the  door 
when  he  got  there.  But,  even  while  turning  the 
matter  over  in  his  mind,  he  had  reached  the 
gate,  had  stepped  boldly  on  to  the  porch,  and 
was  rapping  on  the  door,  with  a  vicious  little  rat- 
terrier  snapping  at  his  heels. 

Presently  a  tall,  matronly  woman,  with  huge 
147 


JOHNNIE 

spectacles,  opened  the  door  and  peered  out  into 
the  night. 

"Good  night,  ma'am,"  said  Johnnie,  removing 
his  hat. 

The  woman  stared  at  him. 

"Whose  boy  are  you?"  she  asked  at  length. 

"I'm  John  Winkle,"  responded  Johnnie  in  as 
deep  a  bass  as  he  could  summon. 

"Oh — Sam  Winkle's  boy,  eh?  Is  some  one 
sick?"  Johnnie  replied  in  the  negative,  and 
was  finally  invited  in. 

Ah,  what  a  little  boy  he  felt  himself  to  be! 
He  had  left  home  with  a  feeling  of  manliness, 
rejoicing  in  his  strength,  but  now,  as  he  placed 
himself  precariously  on  the  edge  of  an  uphol 
stered  chair,  he  realized  how  vainly  he  had 
vaunted. 

Wistfully  he  looked  about.  Mabel  was  no 
where  in  sight. 

"My  little  boy,  Willie,  has  gone  to  bed,"  ob 
served  Mrs.  Meadows  apologetically.  "I'll  see 
if  he  is  asleep,"  and  she  withdrew. 

Her  little  boy,  Willie!  A  wholly  uninterest 
ing  infant,  a  mere  babe  of  ten — what  did  John 
nie  care  for  him? 

148 


A    SORROWFUL    DENOUEMENT 

"Willie  is  fast  asleep,"  said  his  motherly 
hostess  when  she  came  back,  "but  here  are  some 
of  his  picture-books.  Perhaps  you'd  like  to  look 
at  them,"  and  she  deposited  a  gaudy  collection 
of  juvenile  literature  in  his  lap. 

To  think  he  had  come  to  call  on  a  little  boy, 
and  then  to  bring  him  picture-books — this  was 
indeed  adding  insult  to  injury.  But  she  was 
Mabel's  mother,  and  Johnnie  dared  not  reveal 
his  disgust. 

Patiently  he  turned  the  pages  of  the  child's 
books,  pausing  now  and  then  as  though  par 
ticularly  pleased  with  certain  passages. 

In  the  meantime  Mrs.  Meadows  sat  near  by 
reading  a  newspaper  and  looking  up  occasion 
ally  to  see  how  her  young  guest  enjoyed  him 
self. 

For  a  long  while  Johnnie  perused  the  books 
industriously  in  the  hope  that  somehow  Mabel 
would  appear  soon.  But  when  the  clock  struck 
eight,  and  every  variegated  volume  had  been 
exhausted,  he  grew  despondent. 

He  rose  to  his  feet. 

"I'll  have  to  be  going,"  he  said  dejectedly. 
As  he  reached  the  door  he  asked  abruptly: 
149 


JOHNNIE 


"How  many  children  have  you  got,  Mrs.  Mead 
ows?" 

"Just  two — Willie  and  Mabel,"  she  an 
swered  pleasantly.  "You  haven't  any  little 
brothers  or  sisters,  have  you?" 

"No'm." 

"Poor  child!  I  suppose  you  get  lonesome. 
You  ought  to  come  over  and  play  with  Willie 
often.  But  we're  going  to  move  away  soon." 

At  this  juncture  an  inner  door  opened,  and 
Mabel  appeared,  sleepy-eyed  and  yawning,  with 
a  copy  of  Ivanhoe  in  her  hand. 

"Why,  John  Winkle,"  she  cried  in  surprise, 
"what's  the  matter?" 

Johnnie  tried  to  inform  her  that  nothing  was 
the  matter. 

"I've  just  been  visiting  your  ma,"  he  ex 
plained,  smiling  helplessly. 

He  was  already  on  the  porch.  He  had  started 
home,  and  could  not  well  turn  back  now.  Cordial 
good  nights  were  spoken  all  around,  and  he  took 
his  departure.  But  he  lingered  at  the  gate  long 
enough  to  hear  Mabel  asking  her  mother  in  vex 
ation:  "Why  didn't  you  tell  me  he  was  here?" 


150 


A    SORROWFUL    DENOUEMENT 

She  had  been  upstairs  calmly  reading  all  eve 
ning  ! 

Mabel  was  not  at  school  the  next  morning, 
nor  the  next,  nor  any  morning  thereafter.  Her 
father  came  one  day  and  got  her  books,  saying 
that,  as  they  were  going  away  in  a  short  time, 
it  was  not  worth  while  for  Mabel  to  attend  school 
during  the  interval. 

With  her  books  went  his  last  ray  of  sunshine. 
Dismal,  indeed,  were  the  long  days  after  that. 
Johnnie  occupied  the  time  with  various  vain 
subterfuges.  He  wrote  endearing  letters  to  her, 
which  he  carried  about  and  then  finally  de 
stroyed.  He  found  a  pencil  in  her  deserted 
desk,  overlooked  by  her  father,  and  wore  it  near 
his  heart.  He  composed  little  odes  and  sonnets 
of  which  she  was  the  central  thought,  and  in 
which  occurred  such  rhymes  as  "fair"  and 
"golden  hair,"  "eyes"  and  "skies,"  "love"  and 
"above," — rhymes  which  have  been  utilized  over 
and  over  by  languishing  lovers  since  poetry  and 
love  were  first  invented. 

He  went  to  the  woods  in  the  cheerless  weather 
and  seeking  out  their  olden  trysting-place 


151 


JOHNNIE 


carved  her  initials  and  his  own  on  the  trunk  of 
an  ice-bound  tree  that  faithfully  guarded  the 
hallowed  spot. 

He  loitered  sometimes  in  the  vicinity  of  Ma 
bel's  home,  but  he  did  not  venture  in  any  more. 

Early  one  morning,  while  the  dawn  was  yet 
dim  on  the  snowy  fields,  Johnnie  was  awa 
kened  by  the  rumble  of  heavy  wagons  passing 
along  the  road.  Instinctively  he  ran  to  the 
window  and  peeped  out.  The  Meadowses  were 
moving!  Four  wagons,  heaped  with  household 
goods,  upon  the  foremost  of  which  rode  Mr. 
Meadows,  told  the  tragic  tale. 

With  a  sinking  heart  Johnnie  watched  them 
pass.  No  funeral  procession  had  ever  impressed 
him  as  did  this. 

Upon  the  last  wagon,  wrapped  in  comforts 
and  shawls,  sat  Mabel,  his  beloved.  She  gave 
no  sign  of  recognition — she  did  not  even  seem 
to  look  in  Johnnie's  direction.  Once,  indeed,  he 
thought  she  turned  her  head  slightly,  but  that 
was  all. 

Slowly    the    shadows    enfolded    her    form — 
slowly,  as  divine  visions  ever  fade,  she  passed 
from  sight;  and  sadly,   as  all  music  dies,  the 
rumble  of  the  heavy  wagons  ceased. 
152 


XVIII 

A    BOOK    WORM 

THE  boy  is  a  mercurial  being.  Specialists 
tell  us  that  the  slightest  systemic  disturbance 
is  apt  to  throw  a  child  into  fever,  while  a  dis 
order  which  would  produce  a  mere  chill  in  an 
adult  is  sufficient  to  cause  infantile  convulsions. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  child  is  remarkably 
responsive  to  remedial  measures,  and,  the  cause 
being  removed,  reacts  from  the  gravest  illness 
promptly  and  completely.  Anatomically  the 
boy's  bones  and  sinews  possess  more  fibrous  tis 
sue  and  less  calcium  than  the  man's.  And  his 
temperament,  like  his  bones,  is  much  more  sup 
ple  and  elastic. 

The  troubles  of  childhood,  although  intense, 
are  fleet,  as  is  childhood  itself.  A  disappoint 
ment  that  would  crush  hope  out  of  a  man's  life 
forever,  oppresses  the  boy  for  about  a  month. 

Johnnie  was  profoundly  affected  by  Mabel's 
departure  for  the  space  of  several  weeks.  Dur- 
153 


'JOHNNIE 

ing  this  unhappy  period  he  sought  consolation 
in  various  futile  ways.  On  Saturday  mornings, 
after  chores,  he  would  shoulder  the  musket — for 
he  had  become  old  enough  to  bear  arms  now — 
and  go  hunting;  but  his  path  always  led  to  one 
certain  sylvan  retreat,  and  he  came  home  down 
cast  and  empty-handed. 

Then  he  would  chop  stove-wood  diligently  all 
the  afternoon,  striving  to  drown  grief  in  the 
dissipation  of  work,  but  in  vain. 

At  school  he  would  play  wildly  one  day,  quar 
rel  and  fight  the  next,  and  mope  moodily  apart 
on  the  day  after. 

But  one  great  solace  gradually  came  to  chas 
ten  his  sorrow.  As  often  happens,  it  was  the 
very  alternative  which  at  first  seemed  to  promise 
the  least.  In  aimlessness  he  began  to  investigate 
the  dust-embalmed  books  in  his  father's  meager 
library. 

It  was  a  heterogeneous  collection,  comprising 
the  History  of  the  Reformation,  Flavius  Jose- 
phus,  The  Family  Doctor,  and  Saints'  Rest, 
among  its  heavier  works.  In  somewhat  lighter 
vein  were  Oliver  Twist,  two  autograph  albums, 
Waverley,  the  Language  of  Flowers,  the  Agri- 


A    BOOK    WORM 

cultural  Reports,  and  an  Atlas  of  the  World. 
Furthermore,  in  a  corner  to  themselves,  John 
nie  found  his  own  forgotten  prize-copy  of  Par 
adise  Lost  and  a  much  traveled  Pilgrim's 
Progress. 

In  any  other  mood  Johnnie  would  have 
scorned  these  musty,  old-fogy  volumes  as  mere 
empty  rubbish,  belonging  altogether  beyond  the 
pale  of  his  existence.  But  their  very  forlorn- 
ness  appealed  to  him  now,  and  the  ancient  odor 
of  sanctity  which  they  literally  exhaled  seemed 
to  soothe  and  tranquilize  his  soul. 

They  were,  indeed,  spiritualized  books,  from 
which  all  carnal  attributes  had  faded  genera 
tions  before ;  and  Johnnie  felt  himself  strangely 
akin  to  them. 

The  impression  arose  slowly  from  their  out 
ward  appearance.  As  to  their  contents,  he  had 
read  twenty  pages  of  the  Reformation  before 
he  was  even  vaguely  conscious  of  their  import; 
and  he  continued  to  read  more  for  the  sake  of 
turning  the  yellow  leaves  and  smelling  their  in 
spiring  odor  there  in  the  restful  quiet  of  the 
parlor  than  for  any  interest  the  history  bore. 

In  like  manner  he  loitered  through  Flavius 
155 


JOHNNIE 


Josephus  and  the  Family  Doctor.  But  when 
he  had  perused  the  first  chapter  of  Oliver  Twist 
his  lethargy  vanished.  Like  an  Egyptologist 
who,  delving  day  after  day  amid  the  very  at 
tenuation  of  mummified  death,  comes  suddenly 
face  to  face  with  some  quaintly  familiar  phase 
of  life,  so  Johnnie  discovered  the  grotesquely 
vivid  characters  of  Dickens.  He  read  the  book 
through  twice  before  he  could  put  it  aside. 

Thereafter  Johnnie  became  a  discriminating 
reader.  He  lingered  somewhat  over  the  many- 
tinted  but  time-stained  leaves  of  the  autograph 
albums,  dainty  forget-me-nots  of  his  parents' 
youths,  with  their  mellow  verses  in  almost  invis 
ible  chirography  praying  remembrance  and 
signed  by  hands  long  folded  across  throbless 
breasts, — he  lingered  over  these,  with  wonder 
at  the  strain  of  pathos  which  they  revealed,  so 
like  that  of  his  own  life,  and  which  he  had  not 
believed  existed  in  the  good  old  times.  But  much 
more  burning  was  his  interest  in  Scott's  glowing 
romance,  so  replete  with  stirring  life  and  love 
and  all  the  bright  ideals,  toward  which  a  boy's 
heart  yearns. 

To  Johnnie,  Waverley  was  intensely  realistic, 
156 


A    BOOK    WORM 

for  he  had  not  yet  descended  in  spirit  to  the  low 
level  of  ordinary  existence,  where  the  expected 
happens,  and  the  rain  falls  monotonously  on  the 
just  and  on  the  unjust. 

Waverley  was  grand,  and  ere  he  had  finished 
it  his  entire  mental  attitude  and  the  atmosphere 
about  him  had  changed  again.  Depression  had 
been  displaced  by  a  lofty  buoyant  longing  for 
great  adventure.  His  imaginary  world  had  be 
come  a  vast  battle-ground  of  mighty  heroes, 
with  countless  lovely  maidens  looking  on  and 
crowning  the  victors  with  laurel  wreaths. 

His  heart  swelled  to  be  up  and  doing;  and 
his  dreams  grew  more  extravagant  than  they 
had  ever  been  before. 

Nor  were  his  aspirations  satisfied  with  make- 
believes  as  they  had  been  in  the  past.  He  tried 
to  pretend  that  old  Fan  was  a  prancing  palfrey, 
as  she  ambled  across  the  pasture  with  him,  that 
his  clothes  were  glittering  armor,  and  his  hat  a 
helmet;  but  fancy  was  not  equal  to  it.  He 
charged  upon  the  cows  as  adversaries  with  a  mul 
lein-stalk  lance;  but  they  only  eyed  him  re 
proachfully  and  switched  their  tails. 

Discouraged  by  the  perverseness  of  things, 
157 


JOHNNIE 

Johnnie  returned  to  the  library  again.  Saints' 
Rest  aroused  little  enthusiasm ;  and  he  was  some 
what  wary  of  Pilgrim's  Progress. 

But  when  he  stripped  the  latter  of  its  alle 
gorical  elements  and  learned  to  omit  the  disser 
tations  between  Christian  and  his  garrulous  com 
panions,  he  found  it  very  good  reading. 

The  Slough  of  Despond  was  to  him  a  miry 
marsh,  like  that  in  his  father's  meadow ;  Doubt 
ing  Castle  was  a  huge,  jail-like  edifice;  and  the 
Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death  was  a  deep, 
gloomy  gorge.  Great  Heart  was  a  real,  flesh- 
and-blood  man,  whose  lineaments  fancy  graphic 
ally  traced;  and  the  giant  Despair  was  a  coun 
terpart  of  Goliath.  The  fiery  battle  with  Apoll- 
yon  was  a  vivid  and  war-like  engagement,  sur 
passing  any  Scott  had  depicted. 

Johnnie  was  at  just  the  right  age  to  get  the 
meat  out  of  Pilgrim's  Progress. 

But,  at  length,  the  family  library  was  ex 
hausted.  Every  volume  had  been  reviewed, 
even  to  the  atlas.  With  an  unquenchable  thirst 
for  more  fiction,  Johnnie  consulted  Cousin 
Henry.  Cousin  Henry,  he  knew,  was  an  invet 
erate  reader  of  stories. 

158 


A   BOOK    WORM 


"Yes,"  said  Henry  kindly,  "I'll  lend  you 
something  to  read"  ;§  and  going  to  the  barn  he 
brought  forth  a  bundle  of  thumb-marked  papers 
from  a  secret  niche. 

"But  don't  you  show  them  to  your  folks," 
Henry  admonished,  as  he  handed  them  over. 
"Keep  them  hid  somewhere." 

With  a  somewhat  guilty  feeling  Johnnie  bore 
the  papers  home  and,  stealing  into  his  father's 
barn,  stored  them  away  in  the  loft.  Here,  he 
thought,  was  food  that  would  be  filling  at  any 
rate. 

Sunday  afternoon  he  began  their  secret  peru 
sal.  They  were  story  papers  with  a  vengeance. 
The  Human  Sleuth!  was  the  scare-head  title  of 
the  first  tale  Johnnie's  eyes  fell  upon;  and  he 
was  soon  following  the  famous  detective  with 
bated  breath  through  adventures  before  which 
those  of  Christian  paled. 

It  was  the  kind  of  literature  which  at  some 
time  falls  into  the  hands  of  every  youth,  and 
turns  the  heads  of  so  many ;  the  bloody,  microbe- 
infested  kind,  produced  by  anemic,  narrow- 
chested  individuals,  coughing  themselves  to 
death  in  city  garrets. 

159 


JOHNNIE 

For  several  weeks  Johnnie  breathed  this  in 
fected  air,  cuddled  up  in  the  haymow,  in  close 
seclusion. 

But  one  day  Eph.  ascended  to  his  retreat  un 
awares  and,  with  his  usual  sensible  instinct,  took 
in  the  situation  at  a  glance. 

"Hold  on  there,  sonny,"  he  said,  going  di 
rectly  to  the  point.  "Ye'd  better  be  out  playin' 
cyards,  er  stealin'  hogs,  er  plottin'  to  kill  yore 
gran'mammy  than  readin'  that  there  truck;  it'll 
land  ye  in  jail,  shore.  I've  been  there — I  mean 
I've  been  where  you  air;  an'  I  come  purty  clost 
to  the  jail,  too." 

With  admonitions  and  precepts  too  tedious 
to  relate,  Eph  plied  Johnnie  for  an  hour. 

Next  day  the  story  papers  were  returned  to 
their  owner.  Eph  congratulated  himself  on  the 
good  deed  he  had  done,  in  thus  persuading 
Johnnie  to  abandon  the  pernicious  stuff;  but,  in 
truth,  the  fierce  Human  Sleuth  had  already 
grown  repugnant.  The  boy  who  has  tasted 
Dickens  and  Scott — not  to  mention  the  History 
of  the  Reformation — is  apt  soon  to  tire  of  so 
insipid  a  mental  diet. 


160 


THE    BOY    INVENTOR 

DURING  that  intensely  adolescent  stage,  be 
tween  twelve  and  sixteen,  the  boy  is  a  many- 
sided  individual.  In  pursuing  the  tangled 
thread  of  sentiment  through  this  mazy  period,  it 
must  not  be  assumed  that  Johnnie  was  given  al 
together  to  idle  dreams  of  love.  It  would  be 
vain  to  attempt  to  touch  upon  all  the  phases  he 
exhibited.  Their  number  was  legion,  their  man 
ifestations  countless. 

One  of  the  most  persistent  characteristics  was 
a  faculty  for  inventing.  This  amounted  almost 
to  genius;  indeed  his  parents  were  inclined  to 
consider  it  positively  phenomenal. 

At  the  tender  age  of  nine  he  had  torn  a  clock 
to  pieces  and  put  it  together  again  so  that  it 
would  run  with  amazing  speed.  His  mother's 
sewing-machine  was  thoroughly  overhauled  by 
him  when  he  was  ten;  and  at  the  age  of  twelve 
he  attempted  to  make  a  steam  thresher  out  of  an 
161 


JOHNNIE 

old  washing-machine.  All  one  summer  he  la 
bored  at  odd  times  trying  to  transform  a  tin  can 
into  a  locomotive. 

He  whittled  a  whirligig  out  of  a  shingle, 
whose  mechanism  made  a  wooden  bird  bob  up 
and  down ;  and  the  toy  wagons,  sets  oi  dog  har 
ness,  chicken  coops,  and  martin  boxes  he  con 
structed  were  innumerable. 

Some  of  Johnnie's  devices  were  carefully 
planned  in  advance;  but  often  he  depended 
wholly  on  inspiration,  simply  taking  saw  and 
hammer  and  going  to  work,  letting  the  plans 
develop  as  he  proceeded.  Frequently  he  had 
no  idea  what  his  invention  would  prove  to  be 
until  it  was  finished. 

Once  he  arranged  a  sort  of  tread-mill  in  the 
bottom  of  a  box,  and  discovered  afterwards,  by 
accident,  that  it  was  excellent  for  "breaking  up 
setting  hens,"  keeping  them  in  such  constant 
motion  that  they  soon  lost  all  tendency  to  "set." 

But  his  talents  were  evinced  more  plainly  in 
the  conception  of  novel  contrivances  than  in 
their  execution.  In  inventive  matters  Johnnie 
hitched  his  wagon  boldly  to  a  star.  No  sort  of 
mechanical  marvel  seemed  to  lie  beyond  the 
162 


THE    BOY    INVENTOR 


bounds  of  his  imagination.  Flying  machines, 
horseless  carriages,  perpetual  motion — all  were 
within  the  grasp  of  his  mind. 

There  are  lazy,  easy-going  people  of  ability 
who  can  accomplish  things  of  which  they  never 
dream,  and  there  are  energetic  people  who 
dream  of  things  they  can  never  accomplish. 
Both  classes  are  apt  to  be  looked  upon  as  ge 
niuses  in  their  way,  but  it  is  only  the  latter  that 
deserves  the  name.  Genius  conceives  great 
things ;  it  is  only  plodding  Patience  that  carries 
them  out. 

Johnnie  was  not  content  with  the  mere  plan 
ning  of  details.  When  he  had  conceived  the 
general  idea  of  an  airship,  his  fancy  immedi 
ately  mounted  it  and  soared  away  on  its  tireless 
wings.  Lying  on  his  back  out  in  the  orchard,  he 
would  look  into  the  sky  until  he  could  almost  see 
himself,  a  tiny  speck,  drifting  gently  hither  and 
thither  among  the  clouds. 

Yet  he  did  not  overlook  the  importance  of 
less  pretentious  contrivances,  and  many  were 
the  homely  little  conveniences  he  planned.  An 
automatic  ax  for  chopping  stove-wood,  to  be 
operated  by  turning  a  crank,  was  one  of  them. 
163 


JOHNNIE 

This  was  to  be  connected  with  a  patent  wood- 
carrier  in  the  form  of  an  endless  belt,  leading 
from  the  wood-yard  into  the  kitchen. 

Another  was  a  mechanical  milker.  It  was  to 
be  constructed  after  the  manner  of  a  force 
pump,  with  a  rubber  hose  extending  from  stable 
to  cellar.  All  that  would  be  necessary  in  order 
to  perform  the  irksome  operation  of  milking 
would  be  to  attach  one  end  of  the  tube  to  the 
cow  and  work  the  pump-handle.  This  idea  was 
improved  upon  from  time  to  time  until  it  be 
came  a  wonder  of  ingenuity.  The  cows  might 
be  trained  so  that  they  would  take  their  places 
at  the  proper  time,  and  a  spring  might  be  ar 
ranged  to  clasp  the  tube  to  the  udders  automat 
ically.  The  power  for  operating  the  pump 
might  readily  be  supplied  by  a  windmill. 

Moreover,  Johnnie  devised  a  horse-feeder  and 
self-acting  groom,  which  was  to  be  a  great  la 
bor-saver.  To  do  this  part  of  the  chores  one 
would  only  have  to  pull  a  string  when  the  right 
quantity  of  hay  and  oats  would  fall  into  the 
manger  with  a  click,  while  huge  curry-combs, 
protruding  from  each  side  of  the  stall  and  im- 


164 


THE    BOY    INVENTOR 

pelled  by  clockwork,  would  begin  to  smooth  the 
horse's  mane  and  tail  with  lightning  strokes. 

Closely  akin  to  Johnnie's  inventive  talent  was 
an  inborn  fondness  for  experiments.  These,  like 
his  mechanical  constructions,  were  often  carried 
on  in  utter  aimlessness.  He  seemed  to  have  a 
passion  for  dissevering  and  re-assembling  things. 

In  infancy  this  tendency  had  been  rudimen- 
tarily  apparent  in  the  destruction  of  rag  dolls, 
and  the  putting  together  of  dust  and  water  in 
the  form  of  mud  pies.  As  he  grew  older  it  as 
sumed  more  definite  and  even  dangerous  forms. 

One  phenomenon  which  he  never  tired  of  in 
vestigating  was  the  explosive  nature  of  gun 
powder,  and  he  had  several  narrow  escapes  while 
studying  this.  Earth,  air,  fire,  and  water  were 
all  subjects  of  great  interest,  and  his  experi 
ments  with  them  varied  in  danger  according  to 
their  possibilities. 

By  repeated  trials  he  found  just  the  degree 
of  thinness  at  which  ice  would  break  beneath 
his  weight  and  let  him  into  the  creek.  He  de 
monstrated  by  actual  experiment  how  near  to  the 
edge  of  the  bank  he  could  walk  without  falling, 


165 


JOHNNIE 

and  discovered  the  exact  point  at  which  he  fell. 
He  tested  the  comparative  strength  and  resist 
ance  of  various  branches  of  an  apple-tree  in  re 
lation  to  his  weight,  and  learned  which  ones 
broke  with  him. 

He  found  from  how  great  a  height  he  could 
jump  without  hurting  himself,  how  high  he 
could  climb  in  a  sapling  before  he  lost  his  bal 
ance,  and  just  how  a  boy  felt  with  his  breath 
knocked  out. 

Johnnie  acquired  a  great  deal  of  experience 
incidental  to  his  investigation  of  things.  For 
instance,  while  studying  the  labyrinthine  struc 
ture  of  a  hornet's  nest  he  conceived  the  bitter 
pang  of  the  insect's  sting,  and  while  observing 
the  curious  claws  of  a  crawfish  he  felt  their 
sharpness. 

Such  incidents  are  a  part  of  every  boy's  nat 
ural  education,  and  the  city-bred  youth  who 
misses  them  misses  some  of  the  great  underlying 
principles  of  life. 

The  habit  of  making  things  and  trying  things 

is  much  more  than  a  mere  waste  of  time  or  a 

preventive  of  mischief.     The  boy  who  drives  a 

nail  into  a  board  learns  to  hit  it  on  the  head. 

166 


THE    BOY    INVENTOR 

He  becomes  agile  by  climbing  trees,  and  cautious 
by  falling  from  them. 

Some  boy's  grandmother  once  said,  "A  burnt 
child  dreads  the  fire";  and  never  has  anything 
relating  to  childhood  been  more  sagely  spoken. 

From  numberless  native  sources  Johnnie  drew 
that  wisdom,  positive  and  negative,  which  goes 
to  make  up  the  sum  total  of  common  sense,  and 
the  things  he  learned  not  to  do  were  as  useful 
and  necessary  as  the  things  he  learned  to  do. 


167 


XX 


WHEN    HIS    MOTHER    DIED 

THE  darkest  shadow  that  ever  lies  across  the 
path  of  boyhood  is  threatening  Johnnie.  That 
almost  inconceivable,  yet  inexorable  calamity 
which  he  has  dreaded  ever  since  earth's  dearest 
idols  ceased  to  him  to  be  immortal,  is  drawing 
near.  From  his  earliest  remembrance  there  have 
come  to  him  occasional  shadowy,  pensive  mo 
ments,  strange,  reflex  tides  of  emotion,  when  he 
would  pause  in  his  play  and  sigh  in  half  con 
scious  recognition  of  a  presentiment  of  this  or 
deal. 

Even  to  the  verge  of  tears  he  has  sometimes 
grieved  in  its  anticipation;  but  he  knows  now 
that  he  has  never  truly  realized  it,  that  his  fancy 
has  never  been  able  for  an  instant  to  grasp  its 
overwhelming  import. 

His  mother  is  going  to  die.  For  weeks  he  has 
been  hoping  and  praying,  fearing  and  weeping ; 
but  there  is  no  longer  any  hope  left,  no  longer 
168 


WHEN    HIS    MOTHER    DIED 

any  efficacy  in  prayer — nothing  but  tears  re 
maining  to  him.  It  is  a  plain,  pitiless  fact,  a 
condition  as  inevitable,  as  uncontrollable,  as  the 
setting  of  the  sun. 

His  own  mother — that  mother  who  has  al 
ways  been  a  part  of  his  life,  who  gave  him  life, 
and  with  whom  every  circumstance  of  life,  as  he 
traces  it  backward  and  outward,  is  inseparably 
joined,  she  is  going  to  be  swept  out  of  existence. 
He  wonders  what  the  world  will  be  like  after — 
after — but  he  can  not  conceive.  It  is  all  black 
and  incomprehensible. 

Day  after  day  she  lies  patiently  in  the  little 
bedroom,  the  memory-filled  bedroom,  which  has 
always  been  such  a  delightful  place,  which 
henceforth,  will  be  such  a  holy  place — racked 
with  pain,  worn  with  weariness,  but  never  com 
plaining. 

Oh,  she  is  a  saint  already,  he  thinks,  as  he 
tiptoes  out  of  the  room;  there  is  so  little  cor 
ruptible  to  become  incorruptible  there,  surely 
the  kingdom  of  heaven,  which  she  is  so  soon  to 
enter,  will  make  little  change  in  her.  Is  she  not 
—has  she  not  ever  been  sanctified? 

He  steals  away  to  his  one  boyish  place  of 
169 


JOHNNIE 

refuge,  the  barn,  to  meditate.  Vainly  he  tries 
to  picture  to  himself  the  glories  of  that  strange, 
far-off  country  beyond  the  skies  to  which  she  is 
going.  Those  pearly  gates  and  streets  of  gold, 
in  which  he  believes  so  literally, — will  his  mother 
care  so  very  much  for  them,  he  wonders. 

She  has  never  seemed  fond  of  lavish  display 
here.  Only  one  plain  gold  ring  and  a  cameo 
brooch — but  she  could  not  afford  much  jewelry. 
And  she  will  be  rich  and  always  happy  there, 
perfectly  happy  forever. 

A  perplexing  thought  arises.  She  loves  him 
— once,  when  she  went  away  for  a  fortnight's 
visit,  she  cried ;  and  she  cried  again  when  she 
came  home,  as  she  told  him  how  lonely  and 
homesick  she  had  been.  She  loves  him,  loves  his 
father,  loves  home.  How,  then,  can  she  be  per 
fectly  happy  up  there,  so  far  away?  Only  by 
forgetting,  he  reasons,  and  surely,  she  can  never 
quite  do  that. 

Some  one  is  calling  him.  Oh,  perhaps  she  is 
dying  now,  and  he  rushes  wildly  to  the  house. 
But  it  is  only  the  minister,  not  the  angel  of 
death,  who  has  come ;  and  he  is  going  to  pray 
with  them. 

170 


WHEN    HIS    MOTHER    DIED 

Johnnie  goes  in  with  downcast  eyes.  There  is 
a  funereal  air  everywhere.  Each  face  is  averted 
and  tearful,  except  the  minister's  and  hers.  The 
preacher's  pious  countenance  is  tranquil,  and 
there  is  a  radiant,  restful  glory  in  the  mother's 
waxen  features,  such  as  he  has  never  seen  be 
fore,  and  she  smiles  like  a  bride. 

She  beckons  Johnnie  to  her,  and,  as  the  min 
ister  kneels  beside  them,  her  feeble  arms  clasp 
him  close  against  her  bosom.  Many  a  time  in 
his  tempestuous  little  life  he  has  cried;  but  he 
has  never  wept  such  a  convulsive,  heart-broken 
flood  of  anguish  before,  and  never  will  again. 
Every  pathetic  word  of  the  prayer  sinks 
straight  into  his  soul  and  makes  him  shudder 
with  grief,  with  dread,  with  rebelliousness. 

But  she  is  calm,  and  the  gentle  stroke  of  her 
hand  upon  his  hair  soothes  him  at  length  and 
imparts  a  touch  of  that  sublime  peace  of  hers, 
"which  passeth  understanding" ;  and  he  goes  out 
more  nearly  reconciled  than  ever  before. 

Death  always  comes  suddenly,  no  matter  how 

long    expected,    or    how    breathlessly    awaited. 

Johnnie's  mother  passed  away,  at  last,  with  a 

swiftness  that  was  paralyzing.    But  Providence 

171 


JOHNNIE 

has  set  a  limitation  to  human  sorrow,  and  John 
nie  had  reached  this  in  anticipation;  and  now 
everything  took  place,  as  in  a  familiar,  oft-re 
peated  dream. 

Like  an  unreal  rehearsal  the  funeral  cere 
mony  proceeded.  He  knew  just  how  the  minis 
ter  would  look  and  what  he  would  say;  how,  at 
the  close,  strangers  would  gather  about  the 
bier  and  the  merest  friends  would  wipe  their 
eyes  and  moan.  He  knew  how  the  white-gloved, 
black-frocked  pall-bearers  would  creep  softly  in 
to  carry  the  casket  away;  how  the  sleek  hearse 
horses  would  prance  and  shake  their  heads;  and 
how  the  carriages  would  creak,  creak,  on  their 
slow  march  to  the  cemetery.  But  the  desolate 
home-coming — he  had  not  imagined  that. 

When  they  arrived  at  home  Johnnie  slipped 
away  to  the  woods.  Well-meaning  neighbors 
had  tried  to  brighten  things  about  the  house,  as 
if  in  the  hope  of  making  him  forget  his  loss,  and 
this  grated  on  him. 

But  nature  was  in  the  same  mood  as  he.  A 
drizzling,  all-pervading  rain  was  falling — drip 
ping  from  leaf  to  leaf  through  the  autumn  fo- 


WHEN    HIS    MOTHER    DIED 

liage  in  sad  monotones.  There  was  no  living 
thing  in  sight,  no  sound  of  life  to  be  heard. 

Despair  seemed  traced  on  every  lineament  of 
the  forest,  and  desolation  hovered  in  the  air.  He 
had  never  seen  such  weather  before,  and  he  won 
dered  if  the  sun  would  ever  have  the  heart  to 
shine  again. 

At  night,  after  the  rest  of  the  household 
slept,  he  crept  out  again.  A  harsh  wind  had 
risen,  before  which  the  clouds  had  vanished, 
leaving  the  sky  infinite  and  clear.  Unmindful 
of  the  chill  blast,  he  sat  down  on  the  doorstep 
and,  resting  his  chin  between  his  hands,  fixed  his 
eyes  upon  the  heavens. 

Under  such  conditions,  the  stars  shed  an  in 
describably  desolate  influence  earthward.  The 
very  spirit  of  their  stillness  and  solitude  seems 
to  descend,  until  the  whole  shadowy  universe  is 
filled  with  a  loneliness,  incomparably  vast  and 
oppressive. 

How  coldly,  how  pitilessly,  those  stellar  eyes 
stared  down  at  the  poor  lonely  boy,  through  the 
immeasurable,  bleak,  barren  spaces  of  the  night. 
They  were  all  millions  of  miles  away;  and  yet, 


173 


JOHNNIE 

he  reflected,  his  mother  must  now  be  still  be 
yond  them.  And  only  last  night  she  was  here, 
at  home.  What  a  terrible,  inconceivable  sepa 
ration  ! 

And  yet,  as  he  brooded,  he  felt  that  this 
could  not  be.  God  was  in  heaven,  yet  He  was 
everywhere.  Perhaps,  she  was  also;  and,  as  he 
continued  to  meditate,  a  sense  of  her  immediate 
presence  came  over  him — a  sense  which  abode  in 
his  heart  to  cheer  and,  sometimes,  to  chide  him 
through  many  years. 

Whatever  he  should  do  now — whatever  he  had 
done,  even  the  little  things  of  which  he  had  been 
ashamed  to  tell  her,  she  would  know.  Her  invis 
ible  shade  would  follow  him  through  life,  re 
joicing  in  his  achievements,  sorrowing  in  his 
failures,  watching  over  him  faithfully  all  the 
while. 

Perhaps,  this  childish  conceit  of  Johnnie's 
was  not  orthodox.  Perhaps,  it  was  unscriptural 
and  inconsistent;  yet  it  was  a  blessing  to  the 
motherless  boy  and,  perhaps,  after  all, 

Human  hopes  and  human  creeds 
Find  their  root  in  human  needs. 


174 


XXI 

THE  FLEDGLING'S  FLIGHT 

THE  smoky  arms  of  the  distant  city  had  never 
ceased  to  beckon  to  Johnnie.  Sometimes  for 
months  together  he  had  forgotten  it,  and  some 
times,  knowing  he  could  not  obey  its  summons, 
he  had  refused  to  look  in  its  direction;  but, 
whenever  he  turned  his  eyes  toward  the  eastern 
horizon,  the  vapory  signal  was  always  there. 

Neither  had  his  old  resolve  to  go  to  the  city 
some  day  and  become  a  part  of  its  life  ever  died 
entirely  away ;  and  now,  in  his  eighteenth  year, 
with  the  loosening  of  home  ties,  with  the  chas 
tening  of  his  thoughts  by  sorrow,  and  the 
slower,  steadier  beating  of  his  heart,  this  inten 
tion  had  become  firmer  and  more  active. 

It  was  not  altogether  that  mystic  centripetal 
attraction,  which  every  city  exerts  upon  every 
boy,  that  drew  him ;  nor  was  he  influenced  mere 
ly  by  a  weariness  of  rural  quiet  and  a  roving  de 
sire  for  change.  These  were  considerations,  to 
175 


JOHNNIE 

be  sure,  but  beyond  them  was  a  growing  convic 
tion  that  the  city  offered  better  advantages  and 
greater  returns  for  labor  than  the  country. 

Well-fed  students  of  economics  are  in  the 
habit  of  decrying  the  townward  tendency  of 
country  boys.  Urban  editors  of  agricultural 
journals  are  constantly  advising  them  to  stay 
on  the  farm,  pointing  to  the  illustrious  men  of 
our  history  who  started  as  farmers.  But  John 
nie  and  his  father  and  Eph,  discussing  the  mat 
ter  in  their  simplicity  around  the  homely  hearth, 
arrived  at  another  decision.  And  their  observa 
tions  evinced  a  certain  quaint  logic. 

They  looked  at  the  subject  with  the  narrow 
view  of  the  individual  struggling  for  selfish 
ends.  In  many  generations  of  the  Winkle  fam 
ily  the  farmer's  boasted  independence  had  been 
taught  by  father  to  son,  until  it  had  come  to  be 
regarded  as  a  sacred  tenet,  to  question  which 
were  profane. 

Yet,  as  the  matter  of  Johnnie's  future  career 
was  discussed  night  after  night,  one  or  another 
of  them  brought  forward  facts  which  seemed 
to  weaken  the  time-honored  phrase's  force. 

The  fertility  of  the  old  farm  was  slowly  be- 
176 


THE    FLEDGLING'S    FLIGHT 

ing  carried  to  the  city  year  by  year,  while  a 
lugubrious  mortgage  hovered  above  it  like  a 
vulture  on  tireless  wings. 

The  farmer,  while  never  out  of  work,  went 
oftentimes  unpaid.  He  was  dependent,  first, 
upon  the  weather  for  a  crop;  upon  the  uncer 
tain  law  of  supply  and  demand,  together  with 
"them  tricky  board  o'  trade  fellers"  for  his 
price;  and  upon  the  Lord  for  health  and 
strength. 

The  city  fellow — as  far  as  they  could  see — 
set  the  price  at  which  farm  produce  was  sold, 
and  the  price  at  which  groceries  and  clothing 
were  bought.  And,  after  all,  it  was  pointed  out 
that  few  farmer  boys  who  had  become  presi 
dents  had  attained  greatness  in  their  rustic 
guise.  Most  of  them  had  abandoned  agricul 
ture  long  before  fame  found  them. 

With  these  and  similar  arguments,  puerile 
and  fallacious  no  doubt,  but  weighty  to  their 
minds,  the  Winkles,  in  convention  assembled, 
proceeded;  and  the  conclusion  of  it  all  was  that 
Johnnie  should  go  to  the  city. 

Perhaps,  if  the  other  side  of  the  subject 
could  have  been  comprehended  by  them,  if  they 
177 


JOHNNIE 

could  have  realized  the  narrowness  of  the  city's 
streets  and  the  murkiness  of  its  atmosphere, 
contrasting  these  with  the  freedom  and  purity 
of  their  pastoral  environment,  they  might  have 
decided  otherwise ;  but  they  were  as  ignorant  of 
the  disadvantages  of  the  metropolis  as  are  its 
philosophers  of  the  faults  of  the  country. 

The  final  decision  of  the  matter  was  of  great 
moment  to  Johnnie,  and  his  prospective  journey 
out  into  the  world  filled  his  every  dream.  Once 
more  his  relationship  toward  all  familiar  exter 
nal  things  seemed  completely  changed.  In  his 
exaltation  and  self-importance,  the  giants  of 
other  days  dwindled,  and  many  domestic  idols 
seemed  to  crumble  into  dust. 

Native  fields  and  woodlands  took  on  a  plainer 
aspect.  The  graceful  undulations  of  the  land 
scape  grew  angular  and  flat,  the  old  house  ap 
peared  weather-beaten  and  squatty,  and  even 
Eph — faithful  Eph,  the  infallible  oracle  of  his 
childhood — became  a  man  who  used  very  bad 
language  and  wore  shabby  clothes. 

Yet,  as  the  day  of  his  departure  drew  near, 
Johnnie  began  to  realize  that  it  was  only  his 
mind  that  had  exalted  itself  above  these  homely 
178 


THE    FLEDGLING'S    FLIGHT 

associations,  and  that  his  heart  was  secretly 
clinging  the  closer  now  to  its  old  friends. 
After  all  he  had  taken  root  in  this  lowly  soil, 
and  the  most  cherished  ambition  to  be  trans 
planted  could  not  overcome  regret  at  leaving. 

During  the  last  days  of  his  stay  at  home, 
Johnnie  struggled  with  conflicting  emotions. 
He  went  among  the  horses  and  cows,  calling 
them  fondly  by  name  and  feeding  them  extra 
nubbins  of  corn.  He  slipped  over  the  hill  to 
where  the  brook,  his  cheerful  little  playmate, 
that  got  no  older,  nor  more  sedate  with  years, 
was  idling  its  time  away,  and,  sitting  beside  it, 
tossed  chips  into  it  and  wondered  if  it  would  still 
run  on  the  same  when  he  was  gone.  It  seemed 
impossible  to  imagine  it  down  there  in  the  quiet 
glen  alone,  singing  those  lullabies  of  old,  and 
threading  its  way  in  and  out  among  the  calamus 
stalks,  and  himself  so  far  away. 

Into  the  temple  of  the  woods  he  took  his  way, 
and,  in  the  calm  of  sylvan  solitude,  prayerfully 
recounted  the  joys  and  hopes,  the  regrets  and 
fears  of  his  simple  life,  as  a  monk  numbers  his 
beads. 

When  youth  is  constrained  to  look  backward, 
179 


JOHNNIE 

the  vanishing  point  of  its  perspective  appears 
as  distant  as  that  of  age.  Its  years  are  fewer, 
but  they  seem  very  long. 

At  last  the  eventful  morning  came.  Johnnie 
rose  early  and  went  out  to  help  with  the  chores, 
just  as  he  had  done  when  only  an  ordinary 
farmer  boy.  He  had  resolved  to  adopt  no  lofty 
airs  toward  Eph  and  the  stock  on  this  last 
morning,  even  if  he  was  almost  a  city  gentle 
man.  He  would  pass  among  them  carelessly, 
familiarly,  as  of  yore,  with  no  allusion  in  word 
or  manner  to  his  approaching  promotion. 

He  had  decided  to  do  this  partly  out  of  re 
gard  for  their  sensitive  feelings,  more,  perhaps, 
out  of  regard  for  his  own. 

But  Eph  had  forestalled  him,  and  the  milk 
was  already  cooling  on  the  shelves  in  the  pantry. 

"I  'lowed  I'd  as  well  git  my  hand  in,"  Eph 
explained  dryly,  when  questioned. 

Somewhat  resentful  of  this  bald  and  unsenti 
mental  bluntness,  Johnnie  betook  himself  to  the 
haymow  to  indulge  in  one  more  hour  of  solemn 
meditation.  Uppermost  in  his  thoughts  now 
was  a  strain  of  pity — largely  uncalled  for  and 
wasted — for  his  father  and  Eph  and  all  the 
180 


THE    FLEDGLING'S    FLIGHT 

friends  and  relatives  he  was  leaving  behind. 
How  terribly  they  would  miss  him — how  yearn 
ingly  they  would  think  of  him,  and  how  eagerly 
they  would  await  his  distant  return. 

It  would  be  a  weary  time  to  them — though 
short  and  satisfactory  to  himself — before  he 
came  home  again.  Five  years!  He  would  not 
think  of  returning  to  visit  them  under  that  time, 
and  possibly  not  for  ten. 

Tears  suffused  his  eyes  as  he  thought  of  his 
poor  old  father  and  Eph,  sitting  alone  before 
the  fire  in  the  desolate  winter  evenings. 

Perhaps  these  morbid  musings  were  extrava 
gant  and  egotistical  to  a  degree.  But  they  were 
sorrowfully  real;  and  what  boy  is  not  a  gentle 
egotist? 

At  ten  o'clock  the  wagon  was  driven  up  to 
the  house,  and  Johnnie's  tin-bound  trunk  was 
silently  loaded  in.  Then  Aunt  Mary,  who 
had  come  "to  pack  him  off,"  brought  out  two 
boxes  of  lunch,  a  bag  of  apples,  a  bundle,  and 
a  faded  umbrella,  all  of  which  she  grouped 
about  the  trunk;  and  then  came  Johnnie  him 
self,  in  linen  shirt  and  new  clothes  full  of  store 
creases. 

181 


JOHNNIE 

As  he  came  down  the  walk  Pluto  sprang  from 
behind  a  clump  of  bushes,  and,  barking  a  merry 
challenge,  jumped  upon  his  boyish  master,  with 
a  view  to  provoking  a  frolic.  Poor  Pluto  was 
ignorant  of  the  pathos  of  the  occasion.  John 
nie's  lips  trembled  as  he  looked  down  into  the 
dog's  laughing  eyes.  Parting  from  that  ever 
faithful  friend  was  not  the  lightest  of  his  fare 
wells. 

"Well,  sonny,  be  good  to  yourself,"  called 
Eph  carelessly,  as  the  wagon  started.  Aunt 
Mary  smiled  a  cheery  good  by  and  then  threw 
her  apron  over  her  face,  while  Mr.  Winkle,  on 
the  seat  at  Johnnie's  side,  clucked  to  the  horses 
so  vigorously  that  they  almost  broke  into  a  run. 

And  Johnnie  Winkle,  the  little  boy  of  endless 
dreams  and  schemes,  had  flown  from  the  downy 
home  nest,  never  to  abide  in  it  again. 


182 


IN    A    GREAT    CITY 


THE  train,  after  groping  its  way  with  many 
stops  and  starts  among  endless  groups  of  cot 
tages,  of  flaming  factories  and  dingy  vacant 
lots,  ran  straight  into  a  huge,  dark  building  at 
last,  and  came  to  a  standstill.  The  brakeman 
called  the  name  of  the  great  city  familiarly — 
on  what  intimate  terms  with  it  he  seemed  to  be ! 
— and  Johnnie,  with  his  burden  of  baggage, 
crept  out  of  the  stuffy  car  into  the  seething, 
smoky  pandemonium  of  the  Grand  Union  Sta 
tion. 

In  a  trance  he  passed  through  the  iron  gate 
with  the  crowd,  and,  after  drifting  about  in 
various  eddies,  presently  found  himself  in  an 
anteroom,  where  an  obliging  young  man  took 
charge  of  his  bundles. 

He  had  been  admonished  to  take  a  cab  di 
rectly  to  Uncle  Andrew's,  but  it  occurred  to  him 
that  he  might  as  well  see  the  city  independently 
first. 

183 


JOHNNIE 

For  a  time  the  vast  magnificence  of  the 
metropolis  appalled  him;  but,  within  an  hour, 
the  reaction  came,  and  he  proudly  felt  himself 
to  be  an  integral  part  of  the  busy,  alert  life 
about  him.  Almost  unconsciously  he  abandoned 
the  shambling,  leisurely  gait  of  rusticity,  and 
began  to  step  forward  with  the  erect,  nervous 
manner  of  the  urban. 

Thus  he  traversed  street  after  street  with  no 
care  for  time,  and  no  particular  idea  as  to 
whither  he  was  going,  save  that  he  was  journey 
ing  from  the  old  past  into  the  novel  and  hope 
ful  future.  His  immediate  plans  were  indefi 
nite,  but  he  had  a  firm  faith  in  ultimate  success 
of  some  sort. 

As  the  day  wore  on  he  began  to  deliberate. 
He  could  not  make  up  his  mind  just  what  vo 
cation  to  adopt  here  in  the  promising  city. 
This  vexing  question  had  been  left  unsettled 
when  he  came  away,  with  the  understanding 
that  he  should  consult  wise  Uncle  Andrew,  and 
then  write  home  before  accepting  any  position. 

Johnnie  had  brought  with  him  wondrous  let 
ters  of  recommendation  and  certificates  of  char- 


184 


IN    A    GREAT   CITY 

acter,  signed  by  the  pastor  and  Squire  Jetters, 
which,  he  doubted  not,  had  magic  power  to  un 
lock  any  gilded  door ;  but  it  perplexed  him  to  de 
cide  just  where  to  apply. 

It  would  be  very  awkward  and  unfortunate, 
he  thought,  after  he  had  won  his  way  to  the 
presidency  of  some  great  railway  system,  for 
instance,  to  find  that  its  duties  were  irksome 
and  uncongenial. 

Toward  evening  he  returned  to  the  station 
for  his  baggage,  and  was  much  incensed  when 
the  accommodating  young  man,  who  had  vol 
unteered  to  care  for  it,  demanded  pay.  Here, 
he  thought,  he  had  fallen  into  the  clutches  of 
one  of  "them  there  pesky  sharpers,"  that  Eph 
had  cautioned  him  against.  This  experience 
caused  him  to  ask  several  cab  drivers  their  price 
and  bargain  with  them  shrewdly  before  engag 
ing  one  to  drive  him  to  Uncle  Andrew's. 

After  a  fortnight's  weary  search  for  an  open 
ing,  Johnnie  accepted  the  position  of  clerk  in 
Uncle  Andrew's  grocery  store.  It  was  not  an 
ideal  situation — not  just  what  he  had  expected 
to  obtain — but  it  was  better  than  nothing. 


185 


JOHNNIE 

Uncle  Andrew  seemed  to  be  the  only  business 
man  in  all  the  great  city  upon  whom  the  gilt- 
edge  recommendations  made  any  impression. 

Johnnie  became  a  very  good  clerk  in  time, 
learning  to  concern  himself  not  so  much  with 
whether  the  position  exactly  suited  him  as  with 
whether  he  suited  the  position. 

As  the  seasons  went  by  a  double  metamor 
phosis  worked  upon  him.  Nature  was  silently 
engaged  in  transforming  the  youth  into  the 
young  man,  while  art  busied  herself  more  osten 
tatiously  in  making  a  city  man  out  of  the  callow 
country  boy. 

Both  nature  and  art  succeeded  in  a  degree. 
He  grew  taller  and  the  downy  rudiments  of  a 
mustache  appeared  on  his  lip;  his  voice  regis 
tered  lower,  and  his  hands  and  feet  attained 
their  due  proportions.  Likewise  he  became 
dressy  and  adopted  an  habitually  suave  smile. 
In  contact  with  customers  he  developed  into  a 
Chesterfield  of  courtesy. 

Nor  did  art  stop  at  this.  She  led  him  into 
theaters  and  concert  halls;  put  cigarettes  into 
his  mouth,  and  parted  his  hair  in  the  middle; 
even  impelled  him  to  mutilate  the  good  old  fam- 
186 


IN    A   GREAT    CITY 

ily  name,  and  subscribe  himself  "John  Wynkle" 
when  writing  home. 

In  short,  art  inveigled  Johnnie  into  all  sorts 
of  dangerous  places  and  all  manner  of  ridicu 
lous  habits,  and,  but  for  nature's  persistent 
care,  might  have  ruined  him  beyond  redemp 
tion. 

But  toward  the  second  spring  he  tired  of  this 
artificial  life.  The  fever  of  fast  living  cooled 
somewhat,  and,  as  his  mind  grew  clear,  his 
thoughts  returned  to  his  erstwhile,  forgotten 
country  home.  He  retired  earlier  each  evening, 
and  rose  at  daybreak  every  morning  to  take 
long,  solitary  walks  in  the  park. 

It  was  April,  according  to  the  calendar,  but 
the  season's  tokens  that  greeted  his  eyes  were 
few  and  feeble.  Where  were  all  the  thrushes 
and  meadow-larks  and  whippoor wills,  he  won 
dered,  and  the  wild  flowers  and  the  tree-toads 
and  frogs?  How  he  longed  to  hear  a  genuine 
frog  concert  again,  such  as  used  to  pervade  the 
April  twilight  at  home. 

Whenever  he  closed  his  eyes,   little  pictures 
seemed  to  pass  before  him — visions  of  old  fa 
miliar   scenes   down   on   the   farm.     Sometimes 
187 


9 


JOHNNIE 

there  would  appear  a  certain  cozy  corner  of  the 
orchard.  Every  leaf  of  every  tree  seemed  to 
stand  out  boldly  against  the  blue  of  the  sky, 
and  the  minutest  details — the  bees  that  hummed 
in  and  out  amid  the  foliage,  the  tiny  ants  and 
bugs  that  crept  through  the  dew-wet  grass — all 
were  revealed  to  him  with  life-like  distinctness. 

The  apple-trees  budded  and  blossomed,  scent 
ing  the  air  with  an  almost  palpable  perfume; 
little  green  apples  came  out  and  hung  above 
him,  and  cherries  grew  crimson  just  beyond  his 
reach.  Blooms  that  could  not  be  gathered, 
fruit  that  could  not  be  plucked ! 

Now  and  then  he  would  fancy  himself  in  the 
heart  of  the  old  forest  again,  the  cool,  quiet, 
dimly-green  depths,  where  life  was  as  calm,  as 
vague  and  unvexed  as  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 
The  winds  that  threw  the  tree-tops  into  verdant 
billows  never  disturbed  the  dark  under-world 
beneath,  and  the  light  of  the  warmest  sun  be 
came  emerald-tinted  and  liquid-cool  ere  it 
reached  the  ground. 

Shadowy,  dreamy  sweet  was  the  recollection 
of  these  rustic  retreats  to  Johnnie  now,  and 
their  peace  and  tranquillity,  which  he  had  once 
188 


IN    A    GREAT    CITY 

deprecated,  seemed  the  most  blessed  thing  in 
all  the  world.  Even  thoughts  of  the  corn-field 
were  not  altogether  unpleasant.  Compared  to 
the  drudgery  of  selling  groceries  the  labor  of 
farming  seemed  an  absolute  diversion. 

The  simple  truth  was  that  Johnnie  had  grown 
helplessly,  miserably  homesick. 

Uncle  Andrew  soon  observed  the  air  of  ab 
straction  with  which  Johnnie  dragged  through 
his  duties,  and  was  not  slow  to  guess  its  cause. 
Like  Johnnie  he  had  come  to  the  city  many 
years  before,  and  had  suffered  the  distressing 
pangs  which  afflict  every  such  prodigal  more 
or  less,  and  he  knew  their  sovereign  remedy. 

Homesickness,  of  all  diseases,  is  preeminently 
quickest  cured  by  suitable  change  of  scenery. 

One  evening  as  Johnnie  stood  in  the  door, 
gazing  vacantly  down  the  street,  Uncle  Andrew 
spoke. 

"John,"  he  asked,  "don't  you  think  this  close 
confinement  is  injuring  your  health  a  little?" 

Johnnie  immediately  improvised  a  deep, 
sonorous  cough,  and  answered  huskily : 

"Well,  since  you  mention  it,  uncle,  I  fear  it 
is." 

189 


JOHNNIE 

"And  don't  you  believe  a  few  weeks'  outing 
would  help  you?" 

"I'm  sure,  at  least,  I  rather  think  it  would," 
Johnnie  replied,  trying  to  restrain  his  eager 
ness. 

"I've  a  notion  to  send  you  up  north  a  while," 
Uncle  Andrew  proceeded.  Johnnie's  spirits 
fell. 

"Or  out  west."     There  was  a  pause. 

"Or  I  might  let  you  go  out  to  your  father's, 
if  you  think  that  would  answer,"  he  concluded 
with  deliberation. 

Johnnie  thought  it  would.  There  was  a 
spring  on  his  father's  place  whose  waters  were 
distinctly  medicinal.  The  air  was  remarkably 
pure,  and  there  was  a  great  deal  of  sunshine 
out  that  way,  too.  He  was  sure  he  would  re 
gain  his  health  there. 

Early  the  next  morning  Johnnie  wended  his 
way  to  the  station.  It  lacked  two  hours  until 
train  time,  but  he  hurried  breathlessly  all  the 
way.  He  was  simply  in  a  hurrying  mood. 


190 


XXIII 

A    MISFIT 

HENCEFORTH  he  must  be  known  as  John.  It 
would  be  improper,  disrespectful,  almost  abu 
sive  to  speak  of  the  fine  young  gentleman  from 
the  city  as  Johnnie,  who  appeared  at  the  Win 
kle  place  one  day  nearly  two  years  after  John 
nie  went  away. 

Mr.  Winkle  and  Eph  were  fanning  them 
selves  on  the  front  porch  while  the  leisurely 
new  housekeeper  prepared  dinner,  when  they 
noticed  a  well-dressed  stranger  approaching. 
In  one  hand  he  carried  a  slender  cane,  in  the 
other  a  valise. 

"Books  er  lightnin'  rods,"  observed  Eph,  "er, 
mebbe,  jew'lry."  Pluto,  who  had  been  lying 
lazily  in  the  shade,  suddenly  jumped  to  his  feet, 
sniffed  the  air,  and  bounded  off  to  meet  the  new 
comer. 

"Better  git!  That  there  dawg  lives  on  ped 
dlers!"  shouted  Eph,  while  Mr.  Winkle  tried 
191 


JOHNNIE 

to  call  Pluto  back.  But  Pluto,  instead  of  at 
tacking  the  stranger,  welcomed  him  by  such 
mad  waggings  of  the  tail  as  he  had  not  indulged 
in  for  months. 

Then  Eph,  whose  instinct  was  only  inferior 
to  the  dog's  in  acuteness,  gave  a  sudden  whoop, 
and  tossed  his  hat  into  the  air.  Mr.  Winkle 
started  to  his  feet  in  helpless  bewilderment. 
"Well,  dura  my  cats !"  cried  Eph,  "if  that  ain't 
sonny." 

A  moment  later  there  was  a  general  hearty 
handshaking,  followed  by  an  awkward  pause. 
Then  ensued  a  forced  and  desultory  exchange 
of  those  commonplace  questions  supposed  to 
put  people  at  their  ease.  It  was  comical  and  it 
was  pathetic  to  hear  father  and  son  ask: 
"How's  your  health?"  and,  "How's  your  Uncle 
Andy?"  and,  "Are  Aunt  Mary's  folks  well?" 
and  then  go  on  to  comment  on  the  weather. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  John's  sojourn 
in  the  city  had  almost  completely  covered  the 
wonderful  chrysalis  period.  He  had  crept 
away  to  the  city  a  caterpillar  and  had  flown 
back  a  butterfly. 

To  his  father,  who  had  thought  of  him  all 
192 


Of  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


A   MISFIT 

the  while  as  Johnnie,  it  was  no  light  shock  to 
have  him  return  unexpectedly  as  John. 

Dinner  served  to  dissipate  this  painful  com 
pany  air  somewhat,  and  during  the  afternoon 
father  and  son  grew  quickly  acquainted  once 
more;  yet  a  new  respect  for  each  other,  not  al 
together  unpleasant,  persisted. 

Next  morning  at  dawn  John  was  up.  He 
put  on  his  old  clothes  again,  although  they 
seemed  much  shrunken,  and  discarded  shoes  en 
tirely.  He  went  joyfully  out  to  the  barn  to 
renew  old  friendships.  But  the  stock  greeted 
him  coldly.  Stooping  at  old  Brindle's  side,  he 
bored  his  head  into  her  flank  and  proceeded  to 
milk  her;  he  had  barely  begun  when  she  kicked 
him  over  heartlessly.  The  horses  shied  at  him ; 
and  the  chickens  fled  at  his  approach. 

One  after  another  he  visited  all  the  old  spots 
of  which  he  had  dreamed  so  fondly.  Everything 
was  just  the  same;  nothing  had  changed.  He 
affirmed  this  over  and  over  to  himself.  Yet 
nothing  seemed  to  affect  him  as  he  had  expected 
it  to  do — as  it  used  to  do.  He  looked  across 
the  purple  meadow,  up  into  the  trees,  and  lis 
tened  to  the  thrush's  familiar  song — listened 
193 


JOHNNIE 

and  lingered  in  vain  for  his  heart  to  wake  and 
respond  as  of  yore.  But  the  old  glamour  was 
gone. 

At  last  he  gave  up,  and  went  slowly  back  to 
the  house  in  disappointment. 

John  Winkle — let  us  say  Johnnie  just  once 
more — Johnnie  Winkle  had  become  a  man;  and 
only  in  vaguest  dreams  would  the  pristine  glad 
ness  of  the  springtime  ever  thrill  his  heart 
again. 

Paradise  lay  behind  him.  Yet  one  supreme 
compensation  still  remained.  Like  the  first  boy 
who  became  a  man,  he  was  destined  to  depart 
from  the  Garden  of  Eden  not  alone,  but  hand 
in  hand  with  a  woman. 

"Say,  son,"  remarked  Eph  confidentially  that 
evening — even  he  had  dropped  the  diminutive 
form,  and  no  longer  said  "sonny" — "say,  son, 
recollect  the  time  ye  paid  a  visit  to  ol'  Missus 
Meadows?" 

John  had  forgotten. 

"But  how  did  you  know  about  it,  Eph?"  he 
asked. 

"Law,  I  allus  know'd  lots  more'n  I  let  on," 
said  Eph.  "Ye  didn't  know  I  follered  ye  all 
194 


A    MISFIT 

the  way  thar  an'  back,  but  I  did — I  did  so. 
An'  I  know'd  it  wuzn't  the  ol'  lady  ye  went  to 
see." 

John  smiled.  He  would  have  been  exas 
perated  if  he  had  known  this  at  the  time;  but 
now  it  only  amused  him. 

"Well,  what  d'ye  think?"  Eph  continued, 
"that  there  same  young  lady — her  name  wuz 
Mary  Bell,  wuzn't  it?  Well,  sir;  she's  visitin' 
down  to  Tuckers'  now." 

John  smiled  superiorly  again. 

"Well,  what  of  it?"  he  inquired. 

"Oh,  nothin' ;  nothin'  at  all,  only  she  asked 
me  if  you  recollected  her.  I  just  thought  I'd 
ought  to  mention  it." 

This  information,  so  quaintly  imparted,  had 
little  apparent  effect  upon  John.  But  it  was 
on  his  mind  when  he  fell  asleep  that  night. 
Visions  of  Mabel — the  angelic  little  Mabel  of 
old — mingled  with  his  dreams  and  woke  him  in 
the  morning. 

When  he  went  into  the  woods  that  day   a 
shadow  of  the  child  sweetheart  seemed  to  cling 
at  his  side.     He  tried  not  to  notice  it;  strug 
gled  to  throw  it  off,  and  attempted  to  lose  it  by 
195 


JOHNNIE 

strolling  through  unfamiliar  parts  of  the  forest. 
But  it  would  not  be  abandoned,  and  at  last  it 
led  him  irresistibly  to  the  very  nook  where  he 
and  the  girl  had  loitered  together  so  long  ago. 

He  examined  the  spot  curiously,  half  scorn 
fully,  but  not  without  a  shade  of  regret.  They 
were  mere  foolish  children  together — he  and 
Mabel — yet  they  were  happy  children,  and  he 
wished  he  could  enjoy  some  things  now  as  he 
did  then. 

He  recalled  how  he  had  once  carved  their 
initials  upon  a  certain  tree  near  by,  and,  seek 
ing  it  out,  found  the  letters  still  there. 

At  first  they  seemed  to  laugh  at  him  as  they 
met  his  eyes,  and  yet,  as  he  continued  to  look, 
seemed  to  weep  and  grow  faint  and  blurred. 

As  he  returned  to  the  house  the  shadow  still 
clung  at  his  side ;  clung  more  firmly,  more  fond 
ly  than  ever,  and  he  no  longer  strove  to  shake  it 
off. 

There  was  a  friendly  meeting  between  John 
and  Mabel  a  few  days  later.  Each  thought 
the  other  had  changed  greatly;  and  each  se 
cretly  decided  that  the  change  was  for  the  bet 
ter.  John  was  surprised  to  learn  that  Mabel 
196 


A   MISFIT 

had  been  a  resident  of  a  city  suburb  for  years, 
and  that  during  his  stay  in  the  city  he  had  been 
separated  from  her  by  only  a  few  miles. 

This  knowledge  rather  vexed  him  when  he 
thought  of  all  the  pleasant  hours  they  might 
have  spent  together  throughout  the  recent  win 
ters  ;  but  when  he  thought  of  the  times  to  come, 
after  they  should  both  return  to  the  city,  he 
did  not  mind.  For  he  intended  to  go  back 
soon  again.  The  country  had  become  as  great 
a  misfit  for  him  as  his  old  clothes. 

In  truth,  having  once  been  forsaken  by  him, 
it  had  now  finally  disowned  him  forever. 

When  once  more  the  afternoon  train  labored 
into  the  Grand  Union  Station  with  John  as  one 
of  its  passengers,  he  showed  little  evidence  of 
excitement  or  awe.  He  had  not  gazed  out  of 
the  window  much  during  the  journey.  His 
time  had  been,  and  was  still,  thoroughly  occu 
pied  with  looking  after  his  traveling  companion. 
He  escorted  her  through  the  crowd,  and  at  the 
door  of  the  station  handed  her  into  a  cab  with 
the  assurance  that  he  would  call  on  her  very 
soon. 

Some  knowing  people,   whose  gaze  was  at- 
197 


JOHNNIE 

tracted  by  them,  thought  they  were  brother  and 
sister;  and  other  more  knowing  people  thought 
they  were  not. 


198 


XXIV 

THE    MIRACLE    OF    MARRIAGE 

IT  was  four  years  later,  and  John  had  ceased 
to  be  Johnnie  so  long  ago  and  had  become  such 
a  busy  man  that  he  seldom  recalled  the  other 
life  down  on  the  old  farm.  He  was  a  partner 
in  the  grocery  business  now,  and  a  full-fledged 
and  important  citizen.  He  had  cast  his  first 
vote,  and  paid  taxes,  and  joined  a  club.  More 
over  he  had  been  spoken  of  as  a  possible  candi 
date  for  the  city  council,  thereby  having  been 
cajoled  into  subscribing  liberally  to  the  cam 
paign  fund.  And  what  further  evidence  of 
manhood  and  respected  citizenship  could  be  re 
quired  ? 

Yet  a  new  dignity  was  soon  to  be  assumed 
by  him — one  before  which  all  others  sank  into 
insignificance.  He  was  about  to  be  married. 
That  was  why,  although  a  good  citizen  and  a 
safe  and  sound  young  man,  he  was  known  to  be 
at  present  visionary,  flighty,  and  totally  irre- 
199 


JOHNNIE 

sponsible;  that  was  why,  as  he  sat  at  his  desk, 
he  chewed  the  end  of  his  penholder  into  splin 
ters,  spilled  ink  everywhere,  and  tore  up  sheet 
after  sheet  of  paper  in  an  attempt  to  write  a 
suitable  and  intelligible  letter  to  his  father. 

The  strange  accidents  that  befell  John  at  this 
period — the  mistakes  he  made  and  the  ridiculous 
antics  he  cut — were  innumerable.  Indeed,  the 
mental  status  of  a  young  man  in  this  predica 
ment  can  never  be  successfully  exploited.  That 
it  borders  upon  parancea,  dementia,  and  melan 
cholia  at  times  can  not  be  doubted. 

Hysteria — if  men  could  have  hysteria — 
might  be  an  approximate  diagnosis.  Such 
persons  do  a  great  many  unaccountable  things, 
and  develop  peculiar  traits.  Perhaps  the  deed 
itself  is  often  unaccountable.  But  the  dreams 
devolving  upon  it — they  are  divine!  And  if 
these  young  men  exhibit  odd  and  contradictory 
phases  of  mind,  possibly  it  is  because  the  mind 
is  for  the  time  in  complete  abeyance  to  the  heart, 
because  mentality  has  given  way  to  sentiment. 
Even  in  these  days  men  are  wont  to  resign  them 
selves  to  dreams  of  love,  just  as  if  such  delu- 


200 


THE    MIRACLE    OF    MARRIAGE 

sions  had  not  been  tried  by  countless  cynics  and 
found  vaporous  and  evanescent. 

But  John  Winkle's  love  was  different  from 
the  kind  heretofore  known  upon  earth.  It  was 
deeper  and  higher  and  stronger  and  more  eter 
nal.  He  knew  it,  and  Mabel  knew  it;  what 
matter  if  the  cynics  did  not? 

Their  courtship  had  been  personally  con 
ducted  throughout.  They  had  not  met  in  a 
ball-room ;  had  not  made  love  behind  screens  of 
hot-house  plants  to  the  sound  of  waltz  music 
while  chaperons  hovered  near  with  fiercely  ruf 
fled  feathers,  like  brooding  hens. 

Night  after  night  Mrs.  Meadows  had  sur 
rendered  her  modest  parlor  to  them  and  kept 
herself  discreetly  out  of  sight.  She  could  trust 
John  Winkle,  she  told  her  neighbors;  if  she 
could  not  she  would  not  have  permitted  her 
daughter  to  see  him  at  all. 

Certainly  John  and  Mabel  had  become  thor 
oughly  acquainted,  and  perhaps  their  love  was 
different  from  the  passion  of  some  of  their  aris 
tocratic  neighbors. 

Every  twilight,  now,  John  passed  in  Mabel's 


201 


JOHNNIE 

presence.  Almost  every  morning  he  ran  to  tell 
her  something  or  to  ask  her  something  he  had 
forgotten  the  night  before.  Often  they  spent 
hours  together  at  the  window  in  silence,  watch 
ing  the  dusk  turn  to  darkness — watching  the 
stars  as  they  took  their  unalterable  positions  in 
the  sky ;  and  life  and  love  took  on  new  and  mys 
terious  meanings  as  they  watched. 

Sometimes  they  conversed  upon  the  most  un- 
romantic  subjects.  Perhaps  Mabel  would  ask 
her  lover  solicitously  whether  he  was  fond  of 
waffles,  or  if  he  liked  pancakes.  Nor  was  this 
a  procedure  to  be  laughed  at,  for  of  such  trifles 
is  the  kingdom  of  domestic  bliss. 

The  wedding  day  came  at  last,  and  with  it, 
bright  and  early,  the  three  best  friends  of  little 
Johnnie  Winkle  of  old, — his  father,  Aunt 
Mary,  and  Eph.  They  came  with  the  scent  of 
rustic  roses  upon  them,  with  the  manners  and 
dress  of  rural  life, — unchanged  by  fashion,  al 
tered  but  little  by  time.  Into  the  grocery  they 
filed  with  hearty  laugh  and  handshake,  each 
bearing  a  mysterious  parcel,  for  which  Aunt 
Mary  accounted  by  shrilly  whispering,  "Wed 
ding  presents !" 

202 


THE    MIRACLE    OF    MARRIAGE 

At  any  other  time  John  might  have  been 
embarrassed  by  their  unexpected  appearance, 
but  now  he  was  only  pleased  and  a  trifle  scared. 

All  took  dinner  with  him  at  Uncle  Andrew's. 
Aunt  Mary  contributed  sundry  eatables,  fresh 
from  the  farm,  for  the  occasion,  which  she  had 
remembered  as  favorites  of  Johnnie's. 

And  what  an  array  of  bygone  incidents  of 
John's  early  life  was  called  up  and  reviewed 
over  the  plates! 

Each  visitor  had  brought  along  some  par 
ticular  anecdote  concerning  Johnnie.  First  his 
father  told  of  Johnnie's  early  passion  for 
"projecks,"  recounting  several  of  his  disastrous 
experiments. 

Then  Aunt  Mary  leaned  back  in  her  chair 
and  gave  an  entertaining  account  of  how  John 
nie  had  once  played  circus  performer  for  the 
delectation  of  the  minister. 

"We  were  all  settin'  there,"  she  said ;  "an'  the 
preacher  arguin'  with  his  ma  about  goin'  to 
shows,  which  she  was  upholdin',  an'  had  the 
best  of  it,  too,  when,  lo  an'  behold,  here  came 
Johnnie — an'  you  ought  to  have  seen  him! 
Without  a  stitch  on  to  mention," — here  she  put 
203 


JOHNNIE 


her  handkerchief  to  her  face  and  shook  with  sup 
pressed  laughter.  "Goodness,  he  was  a  sight ! — 
an'  there  he  was  a-turnin'  somersets — an'  there 
we  all  were,  an'  his  poor  ma  scandalized  speech 
less!" 

Next  Eph,  who  had  been  non-committal  and 
rather  ill  at  ease  heretofore,  began  to  giggle, 
and,  holding  his  knife  aloft  to  command  atten 
tion,  introduced  his  choicest  tale.  He  related 
how  he  had  known  all  along  that  "sonny  wuz 
tuck  with  the  Meadows'  girl" ;  how  he  had  fol 
lowed  the  boy  on  his  first  visit  to  Meadows' ; 
and  had  peeped  in  at  the  window  "unbeknownst, 
an'  seen  the  ol'  lady  entertainin'  him  'stid  o' 
Mary  Bell." 

Then  they  all  laughed  heartily  again,  John 
heartiest  of  all. 

The  wedding  ceremony  passed,  as  do  they 
all.  The  assemblage  in  the  Meadows'  parlor 
chatted  and  laughed  gaily,  until  some  one  whis 
pered,  "Here  they  come!"  Then  there  was  a 
flutter,  a  hush,  a  gentle  prayer,  a  few  brief 
words,  a  blessing — sobs  here  and  there,  and  a 
painful  silence. 

The  minister  broke  the  spell  soon  with  jolly 
204 


THE    MIRACLE    OF    MARRIAGE 

congratulations,  and  then  Mrs.  Meadows  and 
Aunt  Mary,  wiping  their  eyes  and  laughing, 
pressed  forward. 

The  good  old  country  custom  of  kissing  the 
bride  was  inaugurated,  and  Eph  was  one  of  the 
first  to  take  advantage  of  it.  The  room  buzzed 
with  the  conventional  comments:  "How  lovely 
she  looked !"  and,  "Did  you  notice  how  he  trem 
bled,  poor  fellow!" 


A  lavish  dinner  (which  Aunt  Mary  insisted 
on  calling  supper)  was  served,  in  the  course  of 
which  somebody  addressed  the  bride  as  Mrs. 
Winkle,  and  she  pretended  not  to  hear;  and 
everybody  laughed  at  the  incident  just  as  if  it 
had  not  occurred  at  all  the  weddings  they  had 
ever  attended. 

Neither  bride  nor  groom  partook  heartily  of 
the  dinner.  The  ethereal  atmosphere  surround 
ing  them  rendered  the  veriest  angel  food  coarse 
and  common.  Moreover,  John  in  particular 
was  still  badly  frightened.  He  had  gone 
through  it  all  in  a  hypnotic  state  of  terror, 
quaking  with  a  strange  unfounded  fear. 

It  was  only  after  they  had  departed  amid  a 
shower  of  good  bys  and  rice,  and  were  safely 
205 


JOHNNIE 

started  on  their  tour,  that  his  senses  returned, 
and  he  began  to  realize  what  he  had  done.  And 
then  the  pride  and  tenderness  and  self-impor 
tance  and  general  buoyancy  which  took  posses 
sion  of  him — it  was  simply  intoxicating. 

As  the  train  rumbled  on,  exhausted  by  the 
excitement  of  it  all,  the  girl  at  his  side — his 
wife! — closed  her  eyes  and  leaned  her  head 
coyly  against  his  shoulder;  and,  looking  down 
into  her  sweet,  confiding  face,  the  only  regret 
of  John's  was  that  his  mother  could  not  have 
lived  to  see  his  wife. 


206 


XXV 

THE    NEW    BOY 

THERE  had  been  babies  before,  there  would 
be  babies  hereafter,  but  never  such  a  baby  as 
this  one.  His  precocity  was  established  with 
his  first  unterrified  and  highly  intelligent  glance 
at  the  ceiling;  his  beauty  was  admitted  by  all 
from  the  beginning;  his  amazing  lustiness  and 
strength  were  demonstrated  by  the  way  he  cried 
and  squirmed.  There  could  be  no  question 
about  it — he  was  an  extraordinary  infant. 

A  great  many  burning  questions  did  arise 
about  him,  however.  In  the  first  place,  it  was 
a  matter  of  earnest  debate  as  to  whom  he  most 
resembled. 

Every  baby,  as  soon  as  born,  resembles  some 
body.  Sometimes  it  is  its  father,  sometimes  a 
great  grandparent  or  an  uncle  or  a  second 
cousin,  but  resemble  some  one  it  must.  Each 
acquaintance  who  called,  expressed  an  opinion 
upon  this  vital  point — because  it  was  expected. 
207 


JOHNNIE 

There  are  certain  well-known  though  unwrit 
ten  laws  governing  such  cases.  In  viewing  a 
baby  for  the  first  time  it  is  one's  duty  to  begin 
by  speaking  of  its  sweetness,  then  to  mention 
its  plumpness,  and  then  to  commit  one's  self  as 
to  what  or  whom  it  looks  like. 

Ignorant  or  careless  bachelors  have  made  un 
forgiving  enemies  of  former  friends  by  neglect 
ing  to  observe  these  rules. 

Grandma  Meadows  thought  the  baby  was  the 
very  image  of  its  papa.  Uncle  Andrew  held 
to  the  opinion  that  it  was  the  picture  of  Mabel ; 
while  Eph,  when  he  made  a  pilgrimage  from  the 
country,  expressly  to  see  it,  said  it  looked  "right 
smart"  like  his  sister  when  an  infant. 

Another  momentous  question  related  to  the 
exact  color  of  the  baby's  eyes.  Every  morn 
ing  the  parents  made  renewed  ocular  examina 
tions,  and  each  time  discovered  a  different  hue* 
Then  they  were  greatly  perplexed  as  to  whether 
it  would  have  curls,  and  what  its  complexion 
would  be. 

They  dressed  the  infant  in  a  weight  of  flan 
nels  that  would  have  exhausted  a  really  sentient 
being,   and  John   brought   it   everything   pur- 
208 


THE    NEW    BOY 

chasable — rattles,  rings,  and  dolls,  which  he 
would  wave  in  its  face  wildly  by  the  hour,  trying 
to  teach  it  to  notice  things. 

In  fact,  the  home  life  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John 
Winkle  was  given  entirely  to  developing  the 
wonderful  child.  A  daintily  bound  album  was 
purchased  in  which  to  record  minutely  every 
step  of  its  onward  progress. 

This  unique  book  had  blank  pages  for  the 
photographs  and  signatures  of  parents  and 
nurse;  a  space  in  which  to  register  the  baby's 
weight,  color,  and  condition;  numerous  places 
for  its  pictures  at  different  ages ;  a  blank  page 
for  it  to  walk  across  in  taking  its  first  step ; 
and  a  memorandum  in  which  to  record  its  first 
laugh,  its  first  attack  of  colic,  first  tooth,  and 
first  spasm. 

When  not  engaged  in  playing  with  the  baby, 
John  and  Mabel  were  usually  studying  this  rec 
ord  or  talking  about  it.  Nor  was  the  little' 
tyrant  content  with  monopolizing  its  parents' 
attention,  but  must  needs  entertain  every  casual 
guest  that  called. 

"Did   you   hear   about  that   awful   fire  last 


209 


JOHNNIE 

night?"  Uncle  Andrew  would  ask,  coming  in 
breathlessly. 

"No,"  John  would  answer  with  a  half-hearted 
attempt  to  appear  interested.  "Where  was — 
look!  Did  you  see  that  smile?  Tootsy  woot- 
sy,  there,  now!  Oh,  you  didn't  look  quick 
enough.  Let's  try  him  again."  And  he  would 
contort  his  features  madly  and  gouge  the  in 
fant  prodigy  in  the  stomach,  with  the  fond 
hope  of  eliciting  another  rare  and  wonderful 
"goo-goo." 

And  the  fire  and  all  the  unimportant,  tire 
some  world  outside  were  forgotten,  were  re 
nounced,  and  tossed  scornfully  aside  in  favor  of 
the  one  thing  worth  while  in  the  whole  universe 
— the  bouncing,  new  boy. 

Ever  with  the  tenderest  solicitude  the  anxious 
parents  watched  over  the  little  cherub,  waking 
or  sleeping.  How  the  mother's  heart  palpi 
tated  if  it  happened  to  sneeze.  How  the  father 
faltered  if  it  chanced  to  cough.  How  unhappy 
were  they  both  when  it  cried! 

Its  slightest  indisposition  filled  them  with 
wild  alarm.  Once  the  doctor  was  called  in  the 


THE    NEW   BOY 

middle  of  the  night  because  the  baby  did  not 
breathe  right. 

It  was,  indeed,  the  most  precious  possession 
that  earthly  life  may  know,  the  brightest  jewel 
ever  given  into  human  keeping;  and  so  was 
John  once,  and  Mabel,  and  humble  Eph;  and 
so  are  all. 

One  important  matter,  intimately  connected 
with  the  new  boy,  remained  a  subject  of  dispute 
for  months.  This  was  his  name.  He  had 
come  into  the  world  incognito,  and  there  seemed 
to  be  no  name  anywhere  that  suited  him.  The 
back  of  the  dictionary  was  searched  through, 
the  Bible  was  exhausted,  and  the  long  roll  of 
relatives,  living  and  dead,  was  called  to  no 
avail. 

Grandma  insisted  on  an  unusual  name,  papa 
wanted  something  common,  and  the  mother 
longed  to  call  him  something  musical  and  sweet. 
A  combination  of  all  these  qualities  could  not 
be  found. 

But  as  the  baby  grew  more  and  more  into  the 
semblance  of  a  real,  live  boy,  the  matter  at  last 
settled  itself.  It  became  evident  that  there  was 


211 


JOHNNIE 

one  name — and  only  one — that  would  sit  prop 
erly  upon  a  boy  with  such  merry  blue  eyes,  such 
a  saucily  puckered  mouth,  and  a  countenance  so 
quaintly  quizzical,  so  mischievous,  so  innocent 
and  bland.  Looking  upon  this  complexity  of 
features,  they  could  only  call  him  JOHNNIE. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


NOV0     1947 


y 


LD  2l-100m-12,'46(A2012sl6)4120 


Y.B  64049 


VE. 


192813 


